


Aurora, Remembered

by Ginger Hestwood (V16ClassyCaddy)



Category: Cars (Pixar Movies)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Addiction, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Character Death, Cussing, Domestic Violence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Miscarriage, Prostitution, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 53,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28097997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V16ClassyCaddy/pseuds/Ginger%20Hestwood
Summary: Harlan Beaumont, a 1939 Cadillac Limousine from Aurora, Colorado meets the love of his life, a 1939 Ford Deluxe named Christine Winter, one day at work. From there a whirlwind happens of love, a broken marriage, broken hearts, and the departure for a town no one up north has heard of. In the past-its-prime mining town of Saguache, Harlan meets the woman who sent his treasured marriage into a tailspin...When you are forced to face your ghosts, what do you do?"To understand someone, you must swim in the same waters they drowned in."---
Relationships: Doc Hudson (Cars) & Original Character(s), Doc Hudson (Cars)/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	1. Chapter 1

**ONE  
Colorado, 1940**  
  
Christine Winter was feeling cross.  
  
It wasn’t as if she was unappreciative of what she had in life, but when stacked up and reviewed as a whole, her optimism wavered. Take her twice a week job, for instance. She wasn’t much for children but to gather what was supposed to be a temporary source of income, she had agreed to become the babysitter of her rather well-off neighbor’s two kids, and when the mother decided to be generous and offer a bonus, Christine knew it’d be foolish to turn it down.  
  
Today was Friday – payday – and as she always did on this day slowly drove downtown to deposit her check. Caring for the rather snobby kids was a chore in its own right on any day, but the drift of snowflakes falling down from the heavy grey clouds overhanging Aurora made it worse. Christine hated winter and the fact she was stuck with it year-round because of her surname seemed like the kiss of fate.  
  
By the time she got to the 1st Bank of Aurora (a grey stone structure more than little imposing with its Greek Revival architecture), Christine’s hood and fenders had a dusting of snow upon them, a stark contrast to the odd colored paint she wore. She considered it “odd” because it wasn’t fully black or navy-blue. It changed depending on the light. On such an overcast day it just looked black. Not that she cared; she never felt herself to be pretty. The taunts and teasing she’d had as a young child just reinforced this. She even felt the model she was sounded too fancy for how she felt: Ford Deluxe.  
  
Having prepared for the nasty weather, the entry hall of the bank was covered in a long carpet that told without cliché words that any visitor should “wipe their treads.” As she drove over it she attempted to shake free some of the snow on her frame, to no avail in most cases. They’d all have to deal with a few puddles, she thought.  
  
The interior of the bank exemplified the lesser-used alternative name of “financial institution” and from the tasteful lighting, the numerous potted plants, the highly-carved desks, and the employees – the finest looking cars any other bank had seen – Christine felt even plainer. She was glad her transactions went fast and she could leave in decent time and leave to return home to the life she felt suited her best.  
  
As she waited in line to deposit her check, her eyes skimmed over the row of tellers, all very polished men. It seems like there was usually a new one once or twice a year. One looked questionable to her, but she didn’t linger on wondering. In the long run, it didn’t much matter and she was tired, simply wanting to get home before the snow became worse.  
  
Upon reaching the head of the line she was summoned to the desk of a bright silver limousine. He smiled politely when she halted. “Good afternoon, Ma'am. How may I help you?”  
  
She returned an appropriate greeting. “And I’d like to deposit this today, sir,” she added as she passed over her paycheck. As he read over the information she was glad he made no quip over her surname, even more glaring with her snowy fenders. Her eyes scanned over her immediate surroundings. To the right of the desk was the stock brass nameplate all 1st Bank employees had. _Harlan Beaumont_ was stamped into its surface.  
  
"Alright, is there anything else you need to be done today, Ms. Winter?“ he inquired, having processed her check as her eyes wandered. Now she looked back, meeting his pale blue eyes.  
  
"No, I think I’m fine.” She gave him a little smile. “Thank you, Mr. Beaumont.”  
  
“My pleasure,” he said, returning it. “Have yourself a good day now, and drive safely home. Been told the weather’s getting bad out there.”  
  
"It’s no lie. I hate the winter,“ she commented but quickly added what she knew so many others followed up with. "I guess I got the wrong last name.” He laughed. Not in a way that was mocking but simply good-humored.  
  
"The jokes get old, fast.“  
  
"They do,” she agreed. “Well, thank you again, Mr. Beaumont.”  
  
"You’re plenty welcome,“ he assured her.  
  
… .  
  
Christine arrived home just when the snow had gotten worse and sighed with relief as she tossed the house key in the small ceramic dish on the table right outside the door. It was good to be home, away from the weather and those snobby children she babysat. She was thankful there were 4 more days until she’d have to see them again. They reminded her so much of the nasty cohorts she’d had pick on her as a child, what with their rude and very hurtful ways of behaving and speaking. No matter the things they said to Christine (which were often and ranged from her "ugly paint” to other stinging remarks about how she was “too slow” about fetching them this or that), she had no way to complain to their mother.  


Camilla thought her two tots could do no wrong, and if they wailed about their “awful” day with their babysitter, she figured the navy-blue/black Ford Deluxe had done something to provoke it. Several times she’d been subjected to a Talk with the mother who warned often she could fire her any time she wanted to (at these times Christine felt far more like a hired servant than a mere babysitter), to which Christine would have happily let her do if it weren’t for the niceness of the extra funds. The fact Camilla had decided to give her a bonus confused her a great deal, given the whole family’s behavior. If she had to sum it up to anything, she guessed upcoming Christmas (in about two months, that is), made her feel generous. She surely appreciated it though, no doubt.  
  
By the time the woodstove had been started and blazed quite steady, the small home had warmed pleasantly and Christine spent the remainder of her evening reading the rest of the love story she’d picked up at the library around a week ago. She liked stories like this and although she was left afterward with this delightful sort of warmth, it gradually faded to be replaced by reality. Really, how much of it was true? How much of it was truly fictitious fiction? All she had in life was her mother, her dad having skipped out before she was even born, so to this day she had no clue who he was. Perhaps he was the one to lend her her odd blue/black paintwork. Was he kind? Caring? Or more of a coward? She always guessed the rest won out because had he truly cared he would’ve come back to help a single mother who had to work hard to raise her daughter. Christine wondered – although had never asked – if she had even truly been wanted. Had her creation been entirely unintentional? Her mother would never tell the truth though. It wasn’t in her makeup.  
  
But really, about the unions in those romances. She knew plenty were fakery just by the way they were plotted, but others just made her wonder. She’d had one boyfriend a couple years ago – an International Harvester farm truck – and with him, Christine had felt… okay. The Ford didn’t exactly know what true love was supposed to feel like but nothing was like what she read of in her novels. Perhaps none of it was true at all and she was doing herself more harm reading something like it. Then again maybe it lent her some form of hope for this impossible.  
  
Not that she felt she was really a subject those sorts of novelized men would fall for anyway. The girls in the stories were all pretty in color and curve and none were a dime-a-dozen type like a Ford – Deluxe model or otherwise. If it wasn’t for Frank preferring to live far out of a city for the farm and country lifestyle, which she was a little unsure of handling, he was probably the most suitable for her so far.

About two weeks passed before Christine could spend a day with her friend for girl-time. They usually got together once or twice a month and always had a good bit of fun. Veronica was the stark opposite to her friend with her white paintwork – something many asked her if such was natural, given how much it stood out amongst the many darker shades that dressed the travelers of the streets. The pretty Chevrolet would be flattered as can be and insist that, yes, it was natural but Christine would simply smile knowingly. Veronica had been born deep, dark black. The Ford had seen photos to prove it. She had simply grown tired of the “drab darkness” after leaving home and got it done over in as opposite she could find. What was better than white? Veronica’s intense brown eyes were a bit of a giveaway to her look at birth, but very few put two and two together. Color or not, she was a wonderful girlfriend with her snappy personality and want to be helpful in any way. Sometimes this consisted of her taking the liberty to do things that were so bold, they left Christine shocked, but she tried to keep in mind that her friend’s heart was in a good place and that no matter the outcome, she usually meant well.

Veronica also had quite the taste for intriguing gossip. As they sat there that afternoon, sipping drinks before the warmth of the woodstove, a heaping of it was shared. Christine knew she was in for something when her friend’s dark gaze took on a mischievous look. “Chris, I hope you’ve had your eyes wide open lately.”  
  
“Well, as open as they can be, Veronica.” she allowed, sitting her drink aside. The white Chevy followed suit and giggled.  
  
“Have you seen the absolute hunk of a man at our bank? The new teller?” she asked, grinning so big it looked like it hurt. Her reaction is what made Christine laugh as well.  
  
"How should I know if I have?!? There are dozens of guys there it seems like! I can’t keep track of them.“ she insisted. Veronica waved this off.

"No excuses. I bet these past several weeks when depositing your paychecks for the care of those two brats, you’ve seen him. It’s hard to miss him, Chris! He’s a dream on whitewalls. And yes, he has nice, wide ones too. I made sure I snuck a peek. I love wide whitewalls.”  
  
"You and your fascination.“ Christine snickered. Veronica rolled her eyes.  
  
"I’m not ashamed,” she said. “But really, you need to see this guy if you haven’t already. He’s a work of art. Bright silver paint that just reflects the glow of those little green-shaded lamps at the desks. Sparkly-bright chrome work. Gorgeous blue eyes. There’s a man I’d like to have deposit my checks.”  
  
"Oh! I know who you’re talking about.“ the Ford acknowledged.  
  
"You do? Isn’t he astounding??” Veronica swooned.  
  
"I think his name was Harlan. Harlan… Beaumont…? I think? He deposited my check a –"  
  
"What?!? He did??“ her friend gasped, brown eyes wide. "He touched your check??”  
  
"Well, he had to deposit it,“ Christine explained matter-of-factly. Veronica wasn’t distracted by this.  
  
"And you said his name is Harlan Beaumont? With those looks and that name, he could be an actor! I bet you have fun depositing your checks now, Chris.” she said, smirking. “I know I would. To go in there and see that hunk weekly would make my day.” Christine took another sip of her drink and rolled her eyes.  
  
"I don’t demand to have him be my teller. I take whoever calls me up.“ Veronica was still so starry-eyed; nothing her best friend said made any dent.  
  
"I’ve not seen him as close as I’d like to, but I sure hope to one day. His paint is gorgeous. I’ve never seen a man wear silver that well, and not just silver, but pearlescent silver. At least I think that’s what it is. It surely sparkles, I know that. He must have every girl in town after him.” She sighed. “I hope he becomes Employee of the Month there some time. It’d be awfully nice to see his portrait up on that wall they have for that purpose. I’m so sick of looking at Mr. Streeter. He’s just an uppity Mercedes.”  
  
Christine finished the rest of her drink and then sank down on her shocks, enjoying the stove’s heat. “You sound like you’re in love with him, Ronnie.” she jested. Veronica’s dark eyes went wide.  
  
"In love with Mr. Streeter?? Give me a break, Chris!“ she snorted. "I’ve got better taste than that.”  
  
“Not him. Mr. Beaumont.”  
  
"Oh, well that’s a totally different matter. I’m not going to stop dreaming about such a knight in silver armor anytime soon, you know,“ she said, grinning.  
  
"I figured as much. Now, can we talk about something else aside from the bank teller who’s only helped me one time in the past month?” she petitioned, her grey eyes meeting the chocolate-colored ones of her friend. A vague little smile flickered on her front bumper. Veronica feigned disgust at having the subject changed, as Christine knew she would.  
  
"Ugh, okay. If you insist. How’re the two little monsters?“ she inquired. That was her pat name for Camilla Evans’ spoiled tots and Christine really couldn’t argue, no matter how rude it sounded.  
  
"As monstrous as ever,” the dark blue car said with distaste. “Last time I was there, Bart broke something and when Camilla found out, I got blamed for not keeping a firm enough eye on them. How am I supposed to corral two hyper boys in a house with six rooms when they both like to distract me so the other can get away with something? Short of locking all of us together in one room – which won’t happen – it’s about impossible.” She grinned at her friend. “Unless you’d like to come to help me.”  
  
"Chrysler forbid!“ Veronica exclaimed. "I’d sooner have four flat tires than spend a couple hours with those brats.”  
  
"Okay… I just figured if you were interested, maybe Camilla would consider putting you on the payroll too, and maybe you’d have a better chance of seeing your ‘knight in silver armor.’“  
  
"For all the oil in Texas, I’ll still say 'no.’ Think about it, Chris. If I babysat those kids, I’d be in trouble within the first day and be fired just as soon also. First of all, I wouldn’t tolerate their shenanigans and I’d let them know about it; time-out in the corner with nothing to entertain themselves. Considering you said their Mother Dearest doesn’t like disciplining them, I firmly know I’d be committing some… _peccadillo_.”  
  
Christine sighed. “Sadly, that’s true.”  
  
"You crack me up with how much you hate kids.“ Veronica chuckled, swirling the remaining portion of her drink about. "Although Bart and Carl surely deserve it.” The conversation continued as the two moved their empty glasses to the kitchen.  
  
"I don’t 'hate’ kids, Ronnie. Even Bart and Carl. I just strongly dislike them for the most part.“ she said.  
  
"In other words, you don’t ever want ones of your own.” Veronica filled in.  
  
"In other words,“ Christine agreed, nodding her dark hood. The white car smiled knowingly.  
  
"I can’t argue with that, Chris. If I had kids tagging after me, I couldn’t have nearly as much time as I’d like to spend ogling Mr. Beaumont’s nice, wide whitewalls.”  
  
"And we’re back to the beginning of our conversation again.“ the Ford retorted. In that small room, the two shared a laugh. Outside, snow lightly swirled down over Aurora.


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**  
  
She didn’t need any extra spending money.  
  
That was Veronica’s main thought as she waited in line at the bank; the thought that looped and re-looped in her mind as she looked blankly at the license plate of the customer before her. She had more than enough cash at home for girls’ night (when it could be had) with Christine and plenty of extra funds for a trip to the theatre. She didn’t need any extra groceries right now either.  
  
Essentially, she had zero need for twenty extra dollars lying around the house.  
  
But… she had a strong interest to see that dashing teller Chris was lucky enough to have deposit her paycheck. She wanted to see him up close and personal and had a mind to finagle answers out of a few questions she had too. This was the third time in the past week and half that she’d come into the bank to feign the need to withdraw some extra cash and the past two times when she got to the front of the line, some other teller was available, making her also feign remembering a very important appointment and leaving. When Mr. Streeter (that uppity Mercedes _and_ Employee of the Month) hailed her the last time, she couldn’t leave fast enough. The customer behind her must have been left wondering if she’d suddenly had a premonition of a house fire.  
  
Today things were looking up for her, so long as that truck stopped yammering like so to Mr. Dashing Silver Sedan, Veronica thought. She wasn’t ashamed to admit she cursed under her breath, hoping that now some other teller wouldn’t finish and call her up where again she’d have to pull escapism. If she did that one more time she was thinking the chances of someone tattling on her odd behavior would circulate to someone she didn’t want to meet anytime soon. Oh, but joy! She watched joyfully as the truck left. Veronica took her chances now and glided over to his desk before he could even call anyone up.  
  
“Good afternoon, Mr. Beaumont.” she greeted, smiling sweetly. “And how are _you_ today?” Her entrance had been so quiet that he hadn’t even realized she was there and looked up in momentary shock from moving some paperwork. Whatever shock there was though dissolved to his inherent brand of politeness. He smiled at the white Chevy.  
  
“Good afternoon to you as well, Ma’am. I’m just fine; yourself?”  
  
She could’ve been knocked over with a feather seeing him so near; his paint, his chrome, and those gorgeous blue eyes that Chris _didn’t even mention_. With all of that and his nice, wide whitewalls, Veronica could agree without a doubt he was a positively arresting man.  
  
“I’m doing _very_ well now,” she replied. “Thank you for asking.”  
  
“My pleasure. Is there anything I can help you with today?”  
  
“Oh, if only you knew,” she teased, but before the confusion in his (gorgeous) blue eyes could metamorphose into words she hastily added, “I need some extra spending money.” She passed her account information across the surface of his desk.  
  
“That I can assist you with,” he assured. “How much?”  
  
“Twenty. Small bills, please.” She flashed him an appreciative smile. If she didn’t act now, she knew there’d never be a chance and she surely wanted to spend as much time chatting this dream-machine up as that truck had. “Your paint is dazzling, by the way.”  
  
He looked up from his work, caught off-guard. “Oh, well, thank you.”  
  
“I was tempted to say it is ‘pretty’ but I don’t know any guy that likes having that word applied to him.” Veronica laughed at this. So did he.  
  
“It doesn’t bother me. I’m not really one of those who get ticked off easy.” He passed her the unneeded twenty dollars. She thanked him and hastily thought up whatever could keep the conversation rolling.  
  
“So, are you new here, Mr. Beaumont?” she inquired. “Can’t say I’ve seen you before.”  
  
“I’ve been here a few months now but just recently had my shift changed.”  
  
“You like it?” she asked. She sure hoped so and that he planned on sticking around.  
  
“It works for me,” he said with that smooth smile she was already dazzled by.  
  
“Well,” she replied. “you surely work well for it too.” Throwing him a wink to drive home the words, she turned to go. “Thanks again, Mr. Beaumont.” She could’ve talked longer, but didn’t want to wear out her welcome in a single visit.

  
. . . .

  
“Chris, oh my Ford, _that_ man is a dream on tires.”  
  
Veronica got together with her friend ASAP and couldn’t even close the door before her mouth fell open. Christine sat in the entryway, already fully confused by her friend’s bustling appearance and the words she’d spoken.  
  
“Veronica… I don’t know what’s going on,” she admitted, shutting the door. The white Chevy positively glowed, paint hue aside.  
  
“The bank teller, Harlan Beaumont. I had a feeling he would look good up close but nothing prepared me for the actual meeting. He’s simply beautiful with his pearled-silver paint and brightwork. And his eyes! They’re _blue_. What a good-looking man.” She looked at the dark Ford, incredulous. “How can you be so passé?!”  
  
“Veronica! I don’t swoon over a man I only saw for about ten minutes if that!” she countered.  
  
“Oh, stop being so serious and cut loose, Chris! Enjoy what’s around you and take advantage of the permission to appreciate. _You_ need to have _that_ man do business for you often. He’s an absolute dream to look at, smiles like an actor, and is so polite. I told him he was gorgeous too. He’s as sweet as sweet and deserves to hear it. I am not ashamed either.”  
  
This was too much for Christine to take in. “You flirted with him?? You have to be joking with me. Please.” Veronica shook her shiny white hood.  
  
“I sure am not. When he told me being at the bank worked for him, I told him he sure worked well for it, too. And I winked, in case he didn’t understand the unsaid statement of the 1st Bank of Aurora hiring only the most handsome men in the city.”  
  
Christine’s shocked expression hadn’t changed. “Ronnie… you are the most brazen woman I know.” The Chevy just smiled knowingly. Their talk resumed in the small living room, not immediately before the black stove but nearby.  
  
“Chris, I see no need to hold back the things I believe in and see fit to share. Call it brazen if you want to, but that teller _is_ handsome and all I said was the truth.” Her friend looked at her.  
  
“I couldn’t do that… It seems wrong when conducting business,” she said. “He’s just employed to do his work and what must it be like to suddenly have a lady swoon over him?” Veronica laughed.  
  
“Honey,” she replied, grinning. “There’s not one man that doesn’t like being complimented to some degree. There’s a big difference though when it comes to this. Some men are egotistical hard-hoods that think they’re more amazing than they are, which is one of the biggest annoyances. They think they deserve all these compliments and all it does is enhance their ego, which already makes them enough of a bore to deal with. My sister knew a guy like this and I wanted to give him a piece of my mind once or twice, but there’s no changing that kind of character. Then there are the men who are as sweet as sugar and keep themselves straight. When complimenting them, or ‘flirting,’ as you think I was doing, all you say is the truth because there’s no folly in it. His silver paint is dazzling. Do you agree or not, Chris? Honest answer.”  
  
The Ford Deluxe knew she was caught and knew her expression likely told the truth before her words could. “Alright, alright. Yes. It is dazzling.”  
  
“There. Now _you_ ought to say it to him next. You need to be freer and ‘flirt’ more, Christine. Give compliments where they are due. And let me tell you, Mr. Beaumont is one source where they _are_ due. You could say a lot more about him than that farm truck you dated a while back.” Christine faintly glared.  
  
“Frank was a nice guy.” she countered. Veronica shrugged.  
  
“He was, but you need to start learning to broaden your horizons. A farm truck is fine, but you were too pretty for him. You two looked like the odd couple.”  
  
“I’m not pretty,”  
  
“Sure you are. You’ve got nice curves and shiny chrome and just as shiny paint. You’re pretty, Chris. Don’t argue with me on that. You should try being with a guy who really suits you.”  
  
“Right,” the Ford sighed, not sold. “Like a farm truck.”  
  
“Shush,” Veronica said. “Anyhow, did you get a gander at what sort of car Mr. Beaumont is? I nearly died.”  
  
“What?” Christine inquired. Her friend’s brown eyes turned starry.  
  
“A Cadillac; one of the most elite types around. Doesn’t that just make him all the more handsome?”

  
. . . .

  
Bart was worse than he’d ever been.  
  
Christine knew this from the very moment Camilla and her snobbish husband took their leave that Saturday for their “Couple’s Afternoon,” as the Ford had come to think of it. They always returned home, fully presenting where they’d been. Willis, her husband, smelled like more than one beer and Camilla was giddy and overly-animated from the effects of several cocktails. She usually was in a sprightly mood after these dates but sometimes she was crosser at who she referred to out-of-doors as simply “The Babysitter.”  
  
But Bart’s mood was awful and Carl wasn’t too much better. Spoiled rotten, they threw tantrums over whatever irked them, behavior that wasn’t attractive for any age, but less so for two kids who weren’t mere infants. They certainly could have a better grip on themselves than they did.  
  
“Get me a can of flavored oil,” Bart demanded. Had Christine been willing to overstep her boundaries, she would not have done this chore without first making sure the brat said “please” with his request, but knew this was useless.  
  
“Yes Bart,” she said and with a sigh retreated to the kitchen, riffled through the cooler, and grabbed the first one she saw. “There you are.” She presented it to the sour-looking kid. He looked at it, critically.  
  
“This is grape. I don’t like grape. I want a different one.” On short notice, Christine did so. Bart studied it again. “Cherry. That’s much better.”  
  
“Of course,” Christine muttered and parked nearby to supervise them. She appreciated the bonus Camilla had given her; she appreciated having the job, but being around two spoiled kids whose mother did nothing but pander to drove her more and more crazy all the time, regardless of it only being twice a week she had to deal with them. Every time she left, she went home foolishly hoping there’d be some magic spell cast upon the whole family to make them more pleasant, but it had never happened.  
  
It never would.  
  
As the two kids played and bickered among each other, Christine decided to read a little of the paperback she’d brought along. She never got too absorbed in it and would always look up to make sure things were still civil. Today the two brothers seemed content (to whatever degree, that is) to remain in that one room and play with their construction set and push their metal dump truck about the tufted rug. When their playacting got rather noisy, Christine set her book aside and simply watched them. She wished she was somewhere else. Bart noticed the paperback first.  
  
His eyes zeroed in on the pretty blue car on the front flanked by one that Christine had come to realized looked faintly like the bank teller Veronica was so in awe of. He wasn’t silver though. “That a love story?” the tot asked.  
  
“It is, yes,” she replied. “It’s just something I like to read.”  
  
“You don’t look like that lady,” he said in a voice oddly critical for a child. “Her paint isn’t strange.”  
  
Christine had heard this before. From the kids, from Camilla, and even once from Willis. She knew herself how the undecided hue that went from dark blue to black depending on the light was odd. She didn’t think she was pretty no matter Veronica’s opinion. But that day she was tired of the attitude the spoiled kids weekly threw upon her.  
  
She addressed him in a way that she never had used before, firm but not harsh; stern but not strict. “Please don’t criticize me. I know how I look – I’ve seen myself since I was a little girl. It’s not kind to point it out.”  
  
He threw a fit. She expected that. Beneath the small triumph, she felt though at finally playing the role of an adult was underlying fear. Something would happen.  
  
When Camilla and Willis came home later (her husband always retreated instantly to one of the various rooms of the house; disinterested as he was in child care and babysitters), Bart raced first to his mother, planting himself right before her big sparkling grille. Christine knew what would happen. He would construe whatever had elapsed to play the victim. He was young but he had learned that game. She silently sat in the hallway, waiting.  
  
“Mom! She yelled at me! I was just saying something to her and she got real mad and said something really, really rude to me! She made me cry!” he wailed, putting out some fake-tears for the effect. The Ford sat there, feeling a chill in the room the descended on only her as Camilla’s blunt green eyes landed on her.  
  
“Is that right, baby?” she addressed her son, but her attention was only on Christine. “Well, I’ll talk to her. We can’t have that happening.” She smoothly pulled away from her sons and paused before the darker car. Her Duesenberg looks were arresting but her manners were only icy when faced with a matter she felt wronged her precious offspring. “Come with me please, Miss Winter.”  
  
The two women joined in what Camilla firmly referred to as “The Parlor.” Christine didn’t argue over it, not knowing what that was, to begin with, to determine if this small room passed for it. Camilla’s eyes never strayed from the Ford as she arranged herself in a suitable park and she only spoke after a heavy silence lapsed. “So,” she began, crisp. “Bart tells me that you yelled at him. Really, when I hired you, I am pretty sure I went over the rules of conduct around my boys and yelling at them wasn’t permissible behavior. There’s nothing either of them could’ve done to warrant such an attitude from you. Making a poor child cry? I’m sorry, Christine, but that is unacceptable.”  
  
Christine was aware that Camilla desired an apology, but for once she wasn’t willing to give it. She _wasn’t_ sorry. How could she be over simply defending herself which was something she so rarely did? The slanting glare over Camilla’s eyes deepened when “The Babysitter” had nothing to say.  
  
“How do I know you wouldn’t do this again? How do I know it wouldn’t progress to you possibly forcing them both into a room and punishing them needlessly for ‘time-out?’ I do not know, Christine. Because of this, I am compelled to tell you that you are fired.” She straightened; wordlessly telling the meeting was over. “Wait outside, please. I will cut your last paycheck now.”

  
. . . .

  
Christine went straight home, forgoing the trip to the bank she usually took after receiving her pay. She was jobless now. She didn’t know where to start seeking anything else. Two months remained before Christmas, and by the way things were now it wasn’t looking to be a very happy holiday. Was it really worth defending herself against children who’d never change to simply lose her job? Of course, it wasn’t, she told herself. She defended herself against something she already knew: Her paint color was strange. Was it a holdover from a distant relative of her mother or from the father she never knew?  
  
She looked at the worn paperback that had become the “beginning of the end” that day, artfully decorated on the cover with a car that would never be a Ford – Deluxe or otherwise. Tears stung at her eyes as opened the door of the blazing woodstove. Without another look, she threw the book into the flames.


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**  
  
Her eyes closed upon leaning in to kiss him. Not because he was horrible to look at but because it was a moment worth savoring.  
  
Celeste delighted in the kiss and her position as his girlfriend in a world woefully full of changes. When time permitted a date, she was glad of it – especially in these changing times. She knew him in the best ways of his humor, his charm, and his plain kindness. She had fancied not so very long ago about being married to him. If that had been possible.  
  
She met his pale-blue eyes. They were such a beautiful pairing to his flawless silver paint. She was lucky to know him in many ways, which made this task difficult, although that alone didn’t permit it to be procrastinated forever.  
  
“Harlan,” she began, her grille inches from his. “I want to talk to you about something.” His even and faultlessly gentle gaze spoke the answer but either way, he said it.  
  
“Go on, darling. I’m listening.”  
  
Did he know already? Was his tone even slightly hinting at such? The unspoken words’ weight suddenly seemed very heavy to Celeste and it took all she had to not fall against him and forget it all. Put it off until another day.  
  
But that wouldn’t solve anything.  
  
“We want different things out of life,” she began. “Things that sound minor but are really major, like how I want to live in warm, dry Texas and you don’t. Like how I want three or four kids and you prefer none.” She sighed and looked down before returning his gaze; still gentle but knowing in a way now. He was aware. “I could fool myself over what I want or we could fool each other, but the truth will still come out later. I love you, Harlan, but we’ll never have the relationship either of us wants.”  
  
It was the last thing he had ever expected to hear. Suddenly he was like an individual caught in a hurricane and was willing to try anything to hang on in the torrent. “I could get used to Texas, Celeste.” he tried. She shook her hood.  
  
“And all that would be would be fooling yourself, Harlan. You don’t _want_ to live there. You could try liking it for a while but it’d be no different than me trying to like living here. Colorado and especially Aurora isn’t for me. I can’t tolerate the climate.” Her eyes searched his. “I’m moving next week.”  
  
This canceled out everything else in the immediate world to the silver Cadillac; the wet flakes of snow spattering against the window; the snap and crackle of the fireplace. His gaze couldn’t leave her. Her soft-blue paint shone gently in the dim lamplight. “So this is why you told me now,” he remarked. “You’re really leaving?”  
  
“I wouldn’t lie to you, Harlan,” she murmured. “I never did and I don’t plan on starting now.” He sank to the lowest limit on his shocks. There was no sense in arguing with her. It was a lost cause that’d create nothing but more hurt for both.  
  
“Where are you going to?” he asked. A pale smile flickered briefly on her chromed lips.  
  
“Where do you think?”  
  
“Texas?” he asked. She nodded. “That’s a long drive from here.”  
  
“I know, Harlan.”  
  
“Drive safely,” he petitioned of her. “Please.”  
  
“I will,” she promised and leaned in to kiss him one last time.

  
. . . .

  
Christine was in a fugue following the days Camilla had fired her. She couldn’t believe she had been so foolish jeopardizing the one job she had had and wished, again and again, she could’ve gone backward to make the result different. Veronica was her usual optimistic yet realistic self over the situation.  
  
“Chris, I’d be happier than a kid with a new set of tires if I were you. You never have to drive into that place again and get ugly looks from that family or any more ugly words from those spoiled rotten brats. You stood up for yourself which I know is rare for you, but you should do that more often. You’re a great individual and no one has a right to drive all over you.” the white Chevy stated one Friday’s visit.  
  
“I don’t know,” Christine sighed.  
  
“Well, I _do_ know, and it isn’t right. Camilla Evans did you a favor. That’s it in a nice clean and compact form. I’m glad you’re out of there.”  
  
“But now I’m out of a job before Christmas of all times.” the Ford countered. Veronica shrugged before reaching for her can of oil she’d been casually imbibing on.  
  
“There’s still plenty of time until Christmas; a month and a half. Don’t get worried about it. I’ll take care of you.” She finished the remainder of the can.  
  
“I can’t keep taking your money, Ronnie. It feels wrong enough as it is.” Christine countered but the Chevy had already raised a tire in opposition to the words.  
  
“You aren’t _taking_ my money, Chris. I’m giving it to you and I’m darn well expecting you to take it if I’m doing that. I’d be upset at you if you didn’t. You’re my best friend – I don’t sit around lazily and let you figure out things for yourself in a bad time.” She briefly excused herself to dispose of her can. “Anyway, I need to go to the bank,” she said as she came back into the room. “I need my theatre money and I need to see that good-looking teller again at every cost. Don’t do anything crazy until I see you next time.”  
  
As she turned to head out, Christine quickly spoke up. “Veronica,” she said, “thank you.” The white car turned to look at her again. A smile curved her bumper.  
  
“You bet, Chris.”  
  
The white car followed the stream of traffic downtown until arriving at the bank, glad the whole while that this day was bright and cloud-free. Crisply-cold, yes, but the white stuff just made it that much worse. The winter sun was weak but if she thought hard enough, she could fool herself into believing it was warm. _If_ she thought hard enough. Right now all she was focusing on was mentally cursing out the Evans Family and hoping they all drove over something to get flat tires. Even the kids. Spoiled brats deserved it, goodness knew. Her other contemplation (far pleasanter) was of the “knight in silver armor” she so loved being waited on by. He could occupy her every waking thought if she permitted it.  
  
Because of these distractions, that winter sun was feeling awfully chilly at that moment.  
  
Veronica impatiently waited in the queue cordoned off by the velvet ropes and had already planned that if the next available teller wasn’t him when her turn came, she’d just be pushy and wait at his desk anyway. She was in no mood for Mr. Streeter and honestly, even though the other men were sharp-looking, none of them were on her interest radar since seeing the dazzling new guy. The need never arose for her to be pushy though and when her turn came she smoothly pulled up the desk of that silver dream.  
  
“Hello, Mr. Beaumont,” she said, trying her best to keep the wink in her eye from showing in her voice. He greeted her with his urbane brand of polite in turn but Veronica – who was very astute at seeing the unsaid – felt something was off from how he usually was. She plunged ahead.  
  
“How have you been doing?” she inquired. “You look like you’ve got bad news.”  
  
“Just a personal matter,” he said. His blue eyes stayed upon hers. “It shows?”  
  
She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Not, not badly. You just have the same look my best friend has. She lost her job recently. It’s all for the best but she doesn’t feel that way. With Christmas coming and all, she just is low.”  
  
He slowly shook his long, silver hood in a gesture of understanding. “I can understand that feeling, and I’m sorry. I hope things work out better for her.”  
  
“Me too,” she agreed. “And I hope they do for you as well.”  
  
“Thank you,” His warmly polite smile shone. “I’m sure they will in whatever way.”  
  
The business transaction came and went. Veronica paid no heed to the customers – there were plenty of other tellers and the wait wasn’t staggering yet. She had a few more minutes.  
  
“So, what are you doing for your weekend, Mr. Beaumont?” she casually asked. He shrugged similarly.  
  
“Maybe I’ll go to the cinema uptown. It’s as good of a way as any to spend an hour or so.”  
  
Veronica’s mind whirled. She had to figure out to say something right and say it now. She tamed the inner storm of her admitted worries and put on her average composed mannerism.  
  
“Really? My friend planned on going there too.” She sighed. “Actually, we planned to go together, but something came up for me. With her being so dejected lately I hate knowing I’ll be letting her down.” Her eyes firmly met his. “She knows who you are and has been here before. Would you… could you take her for me if you plan to go? I know it’s a lot to ask, but it’s just a friendly request. Please?”  
  
Harlan was slightly apprehensive about any female company after Celeste’s last words which officially broke apart their relationship. Veronica saw this.  
  
“That is if you’re not already taking someone – I was foolish to not ask.” she hastily added. He shook his hood for no.  
  
“I have no planned company tomorrow or a week from tomorrow. If your friend doesn’t mind, I’ll take her.” He smiled more lightly. “Although she’s under no obligation to sit anywhere near me. Be sure she knows she owes nothing to her bank teller/escort.”  
  
Veronica laughed. “Alright, I will make sure. Christine’s not a rude type though, so I’m sure you can keep each other company. Thank you, Mr. Beaumont.”  
  
“We’re both heading the same way. It’s my pleasure,” he told. The next day was confirmed with a time and directions and the Chevrolet left satisfied and happy. White lies were harmless. She hadn’t planned on an outing the next day with her friend, but one was in place either way. Now all there was to do was tell Chris and convince her of the benefits of getting out of the house.  
  
. . . .

  
“You _what_?!?”  
  
Veronica was prepped for this response upon springing the cinema “date” to her friend. Christine’s mouth hadn’t stopped gaping in some way since hearing the news.  
  
“I just told you, Chris. You’re going to the cinema tomorrow with that handsome Mr. Beaumont. The best looking man in the city, as far as I’m concerned.” She smiled brightly at this retelling. The Ford was still unnerved.  
  
“I am not going to _date_ him, Veronica,” she said, vehement. Her friend was unaffected.  
  
“Okay, that’s fine. You’re under no obligation to even sit near him either, although if I were you, I’d take advantage of it. The way I see it is that you have three options of where you want to set your parking brake. One, you can park in front of him and never have to see him aside from what’s in your side mirror, which is a real pity. Two, you can park behind him and get a gander at his license plate and trunk an –” That was too much for Christine to take.  
  
“Look at his trunk?? Veronica!! That’s just plain suggestive.” she exclaimed. The Chevy shrugged.  
  
“Alright, then you have only one other option. Park right alongside him. He’s a very handsome man, Christine. Is that really such a hard task to sit next to him? I’d give up my spare tire to sit next to him for over an hour.”  
  
“Then why don’t you go?” she asked. Veronica laughed.  
  
“This isn’t about me, girl. This is about _you_. You’re depressed about losing your job – which I can sympathize with, no matter how deplorable the Evans’s were – and you’d be a lot happier to get out of the house and spend time somewhere else. If a movie and a good-looking man aren’t a recipe for that, I don’t know what is.” She switched her tactics. “Look, if I’m wrong about him and he’s not the sweet guy I have an inkling he is; if he’s a rude and thoughtless jerk, then forget you ever saw him and then next time I do, I’ll tell him to drive over some police officer’s road spikes. He’ll either be nice or he won’t be. That’s the worst that can happen tomorrow. Give him a chance, Chris. It’s an hour and a half, tops, at the cinema.”  
  
“Okay, okay. I’ll go.”  
  
“Give me a full report on how it works out too. I’ll be expecting that, you know.”

  
. . . .

  
Christine spent the next day dreading the hour the man she knew as simply the bank teller her best friend swooned over would show up and escort her to the theatre to see the latest movie. She had already figured it’d be a disappointment and hoped upon hope he would completely forget and not show up at all. She had gotten cleaned up as much as her dark paint would permit and as much as she permitted without looking like she was actually going on a date. That wasn’t the idea she wanted to present when the doorbell rang. And speaking of it… it rang at that moment. She glanced at the clock. Right on time.  
  
In the October sun, the silver paint of the Cadillac shone even brighter and she had to be careful when she looked at him to save herself temporary blindness. His smile was of the kindest variety and oddly seemed to dispel her prior irritation near ultimately.  
  
“Good afternoon, Miss Winter.” he greeted. She tried on a small smile as well.  
  
“Hello, Mr. Beaumont.” she returned. “Strange not seeing you at the bank.” He laughed quietly.  
  
“I can imagine that,” he said before his composed features took on a more serious turn. “I’m sorry about you losing your job; your friend told me. That’s hard.”  
  
Christine nodded, there being no need to argue. “Thank you. Yes, it is. The thing is… it’s for the best I guess. Things weren’t really that good although it paid me well towards the end.” She looked up, searching his light-blue eyes, trying to decipher if he was getting bored.  
  
“Sometimes, just because things work out for the best doesn’t always mean it feels that way, to begin with,” he told her. He thought of his own recent instance with Celeste, knowing the words she’d spoken were true but denial had made him not see the reality in them for some time. Christine felt shocked that he understood – seemed to read – the underlying current of knowing that she tried so hard to ignore but couldn’t. “We’ve all been there at least once in our lives,” he added. “Things will work out for you.”  
  
“You seem to know everything I’ve tried to deny,” she remarked. His smile turned vaguely wry.  
  
“Not everything, but a portion. Like I say, we’ve all been there.” She just nodded. “Are you ready to go?” he asked.  
  
She looked down to her dark hood for a few moments and then met his eyes anew. “I guess so. I’m sorry about my friend convincing you to take me.” She slowly drove forward as he moved aside to permit her room. She pushed the door shut.  
  
“Miss Winter,” he said. “She didn’t convince me at all. I don’t mind,” he said as she pulled partially alongside him. “It’s good to have company every once in a while.”  
  
Was that a matter worth denying given how true it was? “I guess you’re right, Mr. Beaumont.” She was still slightly ticked-off at Veronica for craftily coming up with this outing, but hoped now some parts of it would indeed prove to be alright.  
  
At least he wasn’t behaving like a jerk away from work. That had to be a good start.  
  
The talk was at a minimum once they were on the main road with Aurora’s Saturday traffic of day-trippers, families with one tot or more in tow, and everything else in between. Christine was in the lead to the cinema at the silver Cadillac’s polite offer of “ladies first.” She had briefly declined this offer (worried as she was of getting a wandering eye, for, despite her odd paintwork, Veronica had been right on her statement that the Ford had nice curves), something he seemed to perceive the moment she’d rejected. He could only look at her with his innately respectful gaze and tell her it was okay. She was not as adept at determining inner feelings and truth as Veronica was but felt this wasn’t a time to doubt. Smiling, she thanked him and then accepted the offer.  
  
Aurora had two types of theatres, drive-in and indoor. Both were useful because the weather permitted what was most comfortable. Although today was chilly and it’d likely snow later or even once night fell, it was still beautiful and would be a shame to spend it in the dark inside. Centennial Drive-In was chosen and although Christine dithered over it, she eventually took a park directly alongside the silver limousine. Parking ahead of him seemed rude, given his acceptance at escorting her, and parking behind him? No. Absolutely not. Already she could imagine Veronica’s smirk of approval at her choice.  
  
The chatter of the viewers ceased when the big screen flickered to life as the projector was turned on. A young child sitting on the other side of Christine took a hearty and annoyingly loud suck from the straw of his oil can. She glanced over at him. His mother murmured a request for him to “pipe down.” The boy begrudgingly sucked quieter. Christine’s eyes wandered back to the screen and the beginning credits upon it. She followed the Cadillac’s example and sank on her shocks to get comfortable for the next hour and a half.  
  
Veronica must’ve already known the movie lineup somehow because Christine had never been gladder of a comedy and laughed at the shenanigans on screen; more than she had laughed in too long. She didn’t even mind when the kid beside her laughed so hard he spit his drink out. She couldn’t find one person in the whole lot that hadn’t giggled at some point.  
  
When the film was over, the majority of the viewers rushed to head back to whatever was planned before the movie’s interception, leaving a few stragglers remaining. One still chuckled even though the screen was just a blank, whiteboard now. Harlan upheld his earlier politeness and waited alongside the Ford before slowly pulling out. The middle entrance/exit aisle was plenty wide for both to leave alongside one another, saving any further wondering about who should rightly go first. The street leading back to the main road was fairly well lined with those who had previously left; affording a fair time spent idling and doing nothing else so the Cadillac pulled off to the side of the lot to wait it out. Christine, knowing how the traffic could be, didn’t question this and joined him.  
  
“I take it you enjoyed that, Miss Winter?” he inquired with a grin. She nodded emphatically.  
  
“I haven’t laughed like that in ages. It felt so good,” she said with a gladsome sigh.  
  
“Going by how I heard things were for you from your friend, I’m even happier to hear that,” he replied. She looked at him, trying to see if he was simply saying that. No essence of a lie seemed to dwell in his features though. He had meant it, she realized.  
  
“Thank you, Mr. Beaumont.”  
  
“You’re plenty welcome,” he told her.  
  
Even though Christine knew clearly the way home, the silver sedan expressed his want to be sure she arrived there safely without any problems. He alluded to the fact that if he hadn’t, he imagined Veronica wouldn’t let him hear the end of it. Christine had laughed at this; at the very idea and also at the fact he knew her friend’s attitude so well after just a few visits. It was all true. Before both parted ways, she thanked him for a final time and remembering his role of the bank teller offhandedly said, “I’ve had my last paycheck sitting around for a while now so… I guess that’s the next time I’ll see you.”  
  
“I’ll be there,” he said, stating the obvious. She simply smiled. More than she ever thought, she was looking forward to giving the “full report” to her best friend.


	4. Chapter 4

**FOUR**  
  
“So, girl, tell me about all of it. And don’t leave out a single detail.”  
  
Veronica came by again on Sunday to get the details of the cinema outing and foretold it’d already be great news given how bright and happy her friend seemed. That was everything she could’ve hoped for. At least she was pretty convinced the “knight in silver armor” hadn’t been a rude jerk.  
  
“Ronnie, it was so nice.” Christine began. “Better than I thought.”  
  
“Alright, sounds good. I want more details than that though. Was he a demeaning idiot that you dumped halfway there or was he a no-show? You’ve not mentioned _him_ yet.”  
  
“I’m getting there!” the Ford countered with feigned exasperation. “He was very kind and polite.”  
  
“And?” Veronica prompted, knowing there was something unsaid.  
  
“When we were getting ready to leave, he wouldn’t go until I accepted his offer of ‘ladies first.’ I thought that was… sweet.” Christine said. Her friend’s tawny eyes registered interest.  
  
“’ Ladies first’? Chris, that’s the sign of an impressive guy right there. If I recall right, that farm truck you dated never even got that out of his mouth.”  
  
“Well, it was o –”  
  
“No, that isn’t okay. It meant he didn’t appreciate you that much in the long haul, which is his issue. I hope he’s enjoying plowing fields as we speak.”  
  
“He wasn’t a tractor, Ronnie,” Christine said, rolling her eyes. “He was a truck.”  
  
“And not a very sexy one at that.”  
  
“Veronica, really?”  
  
“I’m not ashamed. Trucks do something for me usually, but he didn’t. He had dirt stuck in his treads all the time, for crying out loud. Now, that Harlan is a gorgeous machine. That good-looking chassis of his exemplifies masculinity with a tasteful amount of grace and let’s face it – that paint job over it is plain pretty.” She sighed like a love-struck young girl. “So, did you sit next to him, in back of him, or in front of him?”  
  
Christine couldn’t help but smile. “Beside him. It seemed like the right thing to do.”  
  
“How close were you?” Veronica asked, her eyes intently interested.  
  
“I… don’t know. I didn’t think about it.”  
  
“Just a guess.”  
  
“Maybe a foot apart, two feet. You know how the drive-in’s arrangements are.” the Ford explained. Veronica closed her eyes in a savoring gesture.  
  
“Chris, I want you to promise me something,” she said upon looking at her friend. “Keep this man. He’s a winner.” Christine blinked.  
  
“We went to the movies under your planning. That was it, Veronica.” She was startled by her friend’s change in demeanor.  
  
“No it is not ‘it,’ do you understand me?” the Chevrolet stated firmly. “I know I’m nutty at times and don’t need anyone pointing that out, but I am very certain when I say that man is special. Camilla canned you for a good reason and that was to get to know this guy who’s a true gentleman.”  
  
“He’s my bank teller. I can’t just ask him to take me to the movies again.” Christine said, always the pragmatic soul.  
  
“And why can’t you? You were a babysitter, he is a bank teller. Those are just jobs. Underneath there’s a whole lot more worth figuring out. You need to get to know this man. That’s all I’m saying.”  
  
“He’s a Cadillac.”  
  
“I don’t care if he has a goddess with wings as his hood ornament or not. He didn’t ask to be born that. That doesn’t instantly make him a stuck-up rude fool like Willis Evans. Look, I’ll put it to you this way. You can either get to know him more or I’ll woo him with my ways and ask him out. I don’t care what brand he is.” Veronica knew this approach would work with her friend for suddenly Christine seemed very eager to speak.  
  
“No, I’ll try to know him better,” she said.  
  
“Like him, don’t you?” the white car teased. “Don’t want your friend to get her tires on him.”  
  
“I… _Veronica_ ….” she said, glaring. She had been duped by the smiling car before her again. She played those games so well. “You always get me.”  
  
“Just a gift,” the other car replied casually. “And I don’t mind. You get an opportunity with him then I’m even happier. Don’t lose any chances, Christine. I’ll be really, really mad at you if you do. I’m not joking, girl.”  
  
Christine believed her.  
  
“Anyway, _I’ll_ never have any chance with him. We’d be such a dull-looking couple, what with our light paint. You and he look much nicer.”  
  
Christine looked at her friend with a variety of emotions in her eyes. “Ronnie, I don’t know what to do about you, playing matchmaker between me and some strange man.” Veronica smiled.  
  
“No more ugly words about Mr. Beaumont. And, you’re welcome, sweetie.”  
  
As had been assumed, Christine next saw the silver Cadillac when she deposited her final paycheck at the week’s beginning. He greeted her with his kindly smile.  
  
“How have you been, Miss Winter?”  
  
She compulsively returned the grin. “I’ve been good; still thinking about Saturday. Thanks again for taking me.”  
  
“No need to thank me. It was my pleasure, and I enjoyed the day too. I’d take you again minus your friend’s convincing if I could.” He looked up from his work. “That is if that isn’t too bold to say.”  
  
Within her mind, Christine heard Veronica’s firm encouragement. “What do you mean, ‘If you could’?”  
  
He finished filling out her transaction receipt. “I mean,” he said, giving the slip to her, “that I _would_ if you wouldn’t get tired of going out with your bank teller.”  
  
A playful smile curved Christine’s mouth. “I don’t mind, as long as you’re sure you’re not being friendly towards me because you want my money.” This presented the reaction she’d hoped to gain. Although the workplace meant a degree of composure had to be maintained, the light of humor was in the silver car’s eyes.  
  
“I promise you that’s not the case,” he said. “With that in mind, may I have your company again sometime soon?”  
  
The modest side of the Ford – the side steeped in lack of much worth – was taken aback by this plainly serious offer. It was what she realized she’d unconsciously hoped for but was startled by all the same. She found herself slowly starting to nod. “When?” she softly asked.  
  
“Wednesday afternoon? That will be a half-day for me and I’ll be done around 3. Would that work for you?” he inquired. She nodded again.  
  
“I look forward to seeing you again, Mr. Beaumont,” she said.  
  
“The same to you, Miss Winter.”

  
. . . .

  
Veronica was plainly excited to hear this news and made her friend repeat it several times even though she knew the outcome.  
  
“So, he made the move. He asked you out.” she gushed. “I knew I had the right idea about him. Between the whole ‘ladies first’ situation and now this… what a gentleman. Well, you know what this means.”  
  
Christine said, “I’d better let you put it in your words since you know so well.” Veronica snorted.  
  
“Alright then, girl. He isn’t taking you now because of my white lie of not being able to take you to the cinema.” She looked at her friend seriously. “What this means, in black-and-white, is that he just asked you out on a date.”  
  
“Isn’t that a little presumptuous?”  
  
“No, not at all. You’re not new with men’s ways, Chris. A lot of them don’t just come out and say they want a date. They think it’ll scare a girl off. Mr. Harlan is a thoughtful and considerate man, and that’s why he didn’t say something as serious as that. Underneath though, he means it. He’s taken a shine to you. You’re luckier than lucky.” She grinned. “So, this means you should dress for a date. Unfortunately, you wasted your prettying-up on Frank but this guy is different and he’ll see with those gorgeous blue eyes what Frank Farmall didn’t.”  
  
“His last name isn’t Farmall, Ronnie.”  
  
“You get my point.” The Chevrolet sifted through her personal effects. “Here’s some money. Get your paint all polished up. It’s on me. You’ll be a stunner buffed out.”  
  
Christine demurred. “I can’t let you do that, Veronica.”  
  
“Why not? If this is about my money again, don’t. If I want to throw my money in a campfire one day, that’s my business. Take it and get your paint cleaned up. He’ll love how pretty you are when the light shines over your curves.”  
  
“You’re the pretty one.” the Ford sighed.  
  
“Enough of that,” Veronica said, passing her friend the money. “You’ll be even more gorgeous.”  
  
“How do I ever thank you – for everything?” Christine asked. Her best friend smiled warmly at her.  
  
“Keep Mr. Beaumont. That’s all I need to know.”  
  
On Tuesday Christine abided by her friend’s wishes and got her paint polished up at the ladies salon downtown. She drove out with a hood shining so brightly she found it was hard to even look at without blinking. She had seen her reflection after it was all done in the shop’s mirrors and smiled politely for the sake of the employees who had done the good work. How sad though that such was wasted on her strange-colored paint. The black that shifted to midnight-blue and back again wasn’t much to be improved upon. She had been cheered up though by a small child waiting in the main room while his mother got her polishing. He said with the innocence of the very young she was “pretty colored.” For some odd reason as Christine began to drive home, tears pricked her eyes. She blamed it on the cold wind.  
  
Aside from Veronica and her mother, no one else had said she was “pretty colored.” Not even Frank.  
  
On Wednesday Veronica rang up her friend around three in the afternoon. Although Christine had “experience” with men, she wanted to be sure her best friend was utterly and completely prepared to see the silver limo again and ran her through some important points over the phone she may have forgotten with Frank.  
  
“So you got your paint buffed and I bet you look gorgeous. Are you wearing your perfume?”  
  
“One spray. I didn’t want to overdo it and… well… scare him off?” the Ford said, ending on an unsure note. She heard her friend chuckle.  
  
“He wants a date. If he’s scared off that easy then he’s not worth messing with. If a man is scared off by a little extra perfume, he’s an ass.”  
  
“ _Veronica!_ ” Christine chastised even though she knew how her friend would drop a curse every so often when she got extremely passionate over a subject. Of course, the Chevy replied in the way she expected.  
  
“I’m not ashamed. It’s true. Go put on some more. I’ll wait. Go, now.” Veronica prompted. Christine tossed the idea around and then mumbled something to her friend before doing what she had been asked to. When she came back she related the change.  
  
“Alright. I did two extra sprays. I think that’s enough.” She could tell Veronica’s tone was plenty approving over this.  
  
“Good! He’ll be delighted.” Christine could hear her friend sigh over the air. “You’re so lucky to have got that man’s attention. I hope you feel just as lucky too. If not immediately, you will one day soon, I’m sure. He likes you, girl. Men don’t ask for a second date for the heck of it. No, he likes you and I bet you anything this won’t be the end of it either.”  
  
Christine looked up briefly to the clock. “I just can’t understand the fact a car as elite as he is doesn’t mind being seen with someone as common as me.”  
  
Veronica jumped at this. “Chris, you aren’t ‘common.’ Alright, so both of our makes are ‘average,’ but we’re all individuals and all different. I already told you; Mr. Beaumont didn’t ask to be a Cadillac Master Deluxe. He just is and happens to be a very urbane-looking one too. He likes you and wants company. Be that for him. A lot of good could come out of it.”  
  
The Ford didn’t ask her friend the full meaning behind her cryptic last words, but she didn’t really get a chance either.  
  
“Let me know if he brings you flowers,” the Chevy added.  
  
“I don’t think –” Christine started to say.  
  
“Never say never. Look, I have to go. Enjoy your date. Remember, that is what this is. If you don’t believe me, he’ll likely say something to make it so.” Veronica said. “Just listen.”  
  
 _He’ll say something to make it so._ Really?

  
. . . .

  
Something about his smile put her quickly at ease, no matter lingering apprehension. When he came at the agreed time and greeted her with his genuine brand of kindness, the grin she mirrored came without any questioning thought.  
  
“I’m glad to see you, Mr. Beaumont,” she said, and it was no lie. The minute the words were spoken she knew in her heart they really were true.  
  
“And I’m as glad to see you. But…” He left this hanging in the air, the look in his blue eyes compelling her to close and door and join him in the front yard.  
  
“But what?” she asked. She was still staggered he had claimed to be glad to see her. _Her?_  
  
“All day long, six days a week, what I hear more than anything is ‘Mr. Beaumont.’” He smiled in a humored way. “A guy almost forgets he has a first name at that rate. I don’t need formality, Miss Winter. On these sorts of days, I’m not your bank teller.”  
  
She softly laughed. How he could so easily put her worries and fears and lack of self-confidence aside; if only for a while, it was a good a happy while. “Then you don’t have to be formal with me either. I hate my last name’s weather connotations. Especially at this time of year.”  
  
“I can understand that,” he said, then dipped down his long, silver hood in a polite gesture. The chrome trim along its edges and his Flying Lady hood ornament sparked as they caught the October sun. “It’s a pleasure to get to know you, Christine.”  
  
She felt the heat of blush start to come upon her and furiously attempted to hide it with a broad smile.  
  
“And it’s a pleasure to get to know you as well, Harlan.”  
  
This time, just for a change, they chose the indoor theatre. The weather was okay enough for the drive-in, but a switch-up was nice. He had asked her at the box office what genre of film she most enjoyed but eager for a surprise, she simply said she wasn’t choosy and would leave it up to him. No matter what she couldn’t persuade him to let her pay for her own ticket so she stayed to the side until the transactions had been made. He joined her in the small waiting hall.  
  
“We have a little short of twenty minutes till our show begins, so I guess you’re stuck with me for a while minus the distraction of a movie.”  
  
She laughed aloud. “Well, that’s rough.” she joked. “What did you pick?”  
  
He smiled. “I thought you wanted to be surprised, Christine.”  
  
“Well…”  
  
“Alright,” he gave in. “It’s about a bank robbery.”  
  
“I…” she began, and then made a face of disgust once it set in. “Bank robbery? I think that’s more of your interest than mine.” Now he was the one to chuckle.  
  
“I don’t want my bank robbed,” he remarked. “It’s funny, you’ll like it.” She still wasn’t convinced.  
  
“I don’t know…”  
  
Their eyes met. “Alright,” he replied. “It’s funny but… it’s not about a bank robbery. I had to tease you there.” Christine fired him a glare that lacked anger.  
  
“Don’t try that around my friend Veronica,” she warned. “She won’t be as nice about it as I would be.”  
  
“Noted,” he confirmed. At that moment a fancy-looking DeSoto pulled in with her two children trailing behind her. Following them was a sullen-looking man of the same make. Seeing them made Christine’s not-so-long-ago memories of Camilla and Willis Evans leap to crystal-clarity in her mind. The two kids reminded her of Bart and Carl. A shiver passed through her of distaste. She moved back to leave them more room to move in and at the same instance happened to accidentally brush against the silver limousine’s side. She gasped.  
  
“Oh, I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to, Harlan.” she hastily apologized, for no matter first-name basis or theatre outings, she associated him as being a business official first. His pale-blue eyes registered no ire.  
  
“I’m fine,” he said, brushing it off. “Are you okay?”  
  
She moved back to pull at more even lengths beside him, leaving space between their opposing-colored frames. “Yes… I’m alright,” she replied. He didn’t seem convinced.  
  
“Do you know them?” he asked. She was surprised, not assuming he’d notice her struck-expression at seeing four individuals she knew not at all but reminded her so plainly of her hellacious employer. The peaceable feelings she gained by meeting his calm and even gaze came over her again and so she grounded herself in his eyes’ sapphire hues. She told him, briefly, about her past job.  
  
“It was good pay though… I should have never said what I did to their one son.” she related. Looking down to her now highly polished dark hood she sighed. “It was foolish. I lost the only job I had before Christmas of all times.”  
  
Her inner censuring was interrupted when he leaned over to softly nudge her deep-blue fender with his pearlescent silver. She looked up again to meet his eyes but said nothing.  
  
“Christine,” he began. “There are all types in this world to make it what it is. I know that all too well with a public job at the bank. Child or not, their son was being a brat. There’s no other word for it. You have every right to stand up for yourself.”  
  
“But, what good did it do? I lost my job and he’s the same little brat –”  
  
“– Who’s terrorizing another babysitter,” the silver limousine finished. Despite her arisen worries for her future, the Ford couldn’t help but laugh at this. Seeing he had been able to accomplish what he’d hoped – putting a smile on her face again – he mirrored it.  
  
“You’re out of there and away from the entire family’s abuse, Christine,” he told her as he slowly dropped back to his previous stance. “That’s what really matters.”

  
. . . .

  
It was another movie filled with humor – a romantic-comedy, really. It wasn’t so immersed in the romance that it was serious or too humorous to be frivolous. It was something happy that left viewers feeling good. When the lights had turned back on and the rest of the watchers hastily began filing out towards the sun again, the two sat in their place, waiting as before for a quieter exit. Harlan turned to his companion, glad she had expressed no disinterest at being parked beside him.  
  
“So, that wasn’t too awful for a bank robbery, was it?” he jested her. She laughed. The heavier feel of the earlier remembrances of her employer had been replaced by a lingering blithe mood that the silver Cadillac thought became her perfectly.  
  
“No, not too bad at all,” she said, grinning. “You’re in charge of picking movies from now on.”  
  
“What if I do pick a bank robbery themed one someday?” he pressed.  
  
“I doubt you will,”  
  
When there were only a few other cars in the big hall, Ford and Cadillac made to leave, again traveling the long, carpeted center aisle side by side. Christine noticed on the way out a woman around her age looking at the silver car with unharnessed interest; even desire. When Harlan didn’t meet her boring eyes, Christine felt something like relief.  
  
Maybe she did mean a little something to him after all.  
  
The drive back was a bit slower and the road was busier with the evening traffic of day-workers going home but with careful measures, the pair wasn’t once parted. The winter sun had taken its leave, drenching the sky over the city a color so inky-blue, it looked taken from Christine’s deep paint. Where the cloud cover dissipated, a spattering of stars could be seen. There was a great coldness to the air though. There would very likely be snow that night.  
  
The pair arrived on Christine’s lamp-lit home street where a greater quiet dwelled, as it was far enough from the main thoroughfare in Aurora. Not that anything in a big town was ever entirely quiet, but at least times came when there could be a rare but lovely stillness.  
  
Everything had gone well, leaving the Ford feeling happier than the first time she’d attended an afternoon at the theatre. Then she didn’t know quite what to expect. Now she did and was glad of it. The silver Cadillac drew to a smooth halt in the front yard. Christine halted beside him. The light from the street lamp at the edge of her front fence cast light across their polished paintwork; whereas hers blended into the evening his still softly gleamed. The light captured the pearlescent shimmer in his silver coat, setting it to subtly glitter when he shifted.  
  
“Thank you for letting me take you out again, Christine,” he said to her, his voice as measured as his mild gaze. “You’re a pleasure to spend time with.”  
  
It wasn’t time to agonize over what he’d said. She just smiled instead. “I like spending time with you as well.” Her tone was almost shy. “You pick good movies,” she added in a humored affectation.  
  
“What happens if I can’t find a movie you’d want to see one day?” he inquired. “There’s a chance that will happen.”  
  
The darkness permitted a bolder side to show. “Well, Harlan, I don’t have to be at the cinema to enjoy being with you. I’d be anywhere, I think.”  
  
For the silver Cadillac, whose mind often retreated to the union he had forged with Celeste – a girl he would have liked to marry at some point but had now lost for good – those words were a sweetness appreciated. He had worked at the 1st Bank of Aurora for a decent period and although there was a fair deal of break-room “what if” jokes of falling for a customer, he hadn’t figured it was possible. Of course, Celeste was in his life as well so there was no thinking of this even being true.  
  
Now she was gone, away to Texas. And no, she had said, she wouldn’t be living in the related-sounding Beaumont. He hadn’t asked though. She had simply volunteered this so he knew. She had said even if she was interested in the area, she couldn’t live in the town.  
  
“ _I couldn’t live in a place that reminds me of a man I loved every day of my life_ ,” she had told him. They had parted. He had lost her. He hadn’t emphasized thinking of anyone else to have as company. But then, here she was. Right before him.  
  
“Maybe the next time I ask you out, I’ll do something aside from the cinema,” he said.  
  
“Nothing fancy,” she offered. “It can be simple.”  
  
“I’ll see what I can think of.”  
  
“Surprise me,” she told him. He smiled.  
  
“I’ll be happy to try that,” he replied. “And Christine?”  
  
The stars twinkled up above in the small break of the clouds. Below on earth, his pearlescent paint was the same. _More wonderful than the stars because I can see it so near_ , she thought before encouraging him with a nod.  
  
“You did the right thing by standing up to that brat you babysat. He has no right saying anything about your looks or your color,” he said to her. “If it means anything at all to you for me to say this, I think you are a beautiful lady.” The words startled her so much that she hadn’t any chance of thinking up a suitable reply. Was he simply being nice? Was it insincerity?  
  
The silver Cadillac whose paint was like the stars fallen to earth leaned over, kissing the Ford on the side of her midnight-dark fender; confirmed sincerity in his action to prove his words.  
  
 _“If you doubt it’s a date, he’ll say something to make it so,”_ Veronica had said. How wise she had been. It was true.


	5. Chapter 5

**FIVE**  
  
“And I can still scarcely believe what happened at the end of our outing,”  
  
True to her streak, Veronica had called her friend Thursday afternoon to get the scoop. Honestly, she had yearned to ring the very evening of the date but figured it was worth her learning a _little_ patience to hold out. Now the news was being known and she had no interest in suppressing it.  
  
“What happened?” she prompted. She could almost see her friend’s smile through her words.  
  
“Veronica, I just can’t believe it. When he escorted me home, he… he…”  
  
“He _what?_ ” she interjected, listening intently.  
  
“He kissed me and said I was ‘beautiful.’ Not ‘pretty;’ actually ‘beautiful.’” Christine told and as had happened the evening before in the privacy of her home, tears of shock and joy stung her eyes. Furiously she blinked them back, not wanting to muddle her glossy hood yet by their trail.  
  
Veronica struggled to not squeal like a young girl. “Oh my Ford, Christine. I hoped this would happen. _See_ , I told you there would be some proof this was a date. He kissed you… you are one lucky lady. Do you feel lucky now?”  
  
Christine didn’t have to think twice. She nodded. “Yes, I really do, Ronnie.”  
  
“Good! As you deserve to feel. Well, now that this has happened, you know what’s next.”  
  
The Ford balked. “I’m not that kind of woman, Veronica. You know that. Anyway, it’s still a little… soon… you know.”  
  
The Chevrolet howled with laughter, startling Christine. “Listen to you!” she chuckled. “I’m bad, but I wasn’t going _there_ , Chris! Not yet at least! Look, he told you he thinks you’re beautiful, which is a mile past your farmer boyfriend’s yammering. Now, this opens the door to a great opportunity I’d race for. Do you think he’s good-looking?”  
  
“Yes,” the darker car agreed. “I admit he’s very handsome.”  
  
“Well? Go on and flirt with him, too! You said nice things about Frank’s fenders; I’m sure you could find something to say about Harlan, given his whole darn body is a work of art. There’s an idea – tell him that. It’s true, goodness knows.”  
  
Christine laughed. “I’m not as bold as you, Ronnie.”  
  
“That’s good in its own ways, Chris. I know you’ll think of something to say. All I am certain of, though, is that you are the luckiest girl in Aurora right now.”

  
. . . .

  
As luck would have it, it wasn’t until the final week of October, on a Sunday, when the essence of All Hallows Eve was in the air that the two young cars could meet again, and “absence makes the heart grow fonder” rang true. Christine was overjoyed to see the silver Caddy again, her bright smile illustrating her inner feelings. She did not pay heed to how quickly things were moving when viewed by an outsider. All she knew – and cared about – was that she felt so incredibly happy and everything worrisome took a rear seat when she was with him.  
  
Nothing new was showing at either of the cinemas and the weather was too breezy and crisp for any outdoor ventures so the two decided upon something different, which is how they found themselves in the warm interiors of the Mile High Café. They weren’t the only young pair gathering. By the west wall, a coupe and her pickup-truck beau spoke in a hushed tone and laughs broke through their quiet cover every so often. Christine stirred a little sugar into her coffee.  
  
“Do you enjoy working at the bank, Harlan?” she asked her companion.  
  
“It works for me,” he said. “Like all work, there are good days with the public and bad. Mostly there’s good though. I’m glad about that.”  
  
She sipped her warm drink. “Well…” she began, and offered him a sweet little smile, “I can see how you got the job, with the bank’s standards and all. You’re the most handsome guy there.”  
  
Now he was the one to smile in that smooth and sophisticated way he had. “You’re a sweetheart to say that. Thank you.”  
  
“I say it because it’s true,” she replied. “Not to simply be a sweetheart, you know.”  
  
“Well _alright_.” he relented. “But I still have an idea you are one either way.”  
  
She would’ve hidden her blush with the distraction of stirring more sugar into her coffee but it was already plenty sweet. She was caught. Her grey eyes fired him a look. Unfazed, he wore that same smile still.  
  
“Got you,” he teased in a good-natured way. “I wasn’t planning on letting that one go.”  
  
“You’re awful,” she said.  
  
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said with a laugh. “So, on to another subject; how did you and your friend Veronica meet?”  
  
Christine took another sip of her drink before sitting it aside. “I actually just met her one day at the service station. Her enthusiastic personality rather blocked out anything else. She said hello to anyone that came in while she was getting what she needed. I remember her telling some sort of joke that practically had me in stitches. The attendants laughed too, I recall. We just sort of hit it off around then and she said it’d be fun to get together that weekend. And here we are now.” She smiled. “She’s my best friend. I can’t imagine forging through certain things in life without her. She puts it in perspective and is usually right when she says something good will come out of something bad. I’m very happy to know her.”  
  
He set his nearly empty cup across from hers. “I’m happy to know you have someone like that for a friend. From what little I know of her from her trips to the bank, I imagine she enlivens things quite a bit, too. She’s very bodacious, and I don’t mean that in a bad way.”  
  
Christine laughed. “Yes, she is indeed, and yes, she does enliven things.” She looked at the handsome car before her, grinning still. “She certainly enlivens them when playing matchmaker.”  
  
He tilted slightly to the side in a gesture that expressed intrigue. “So that’s what she was doing when she said she couldn’t come to the cinema that first time?”  
  
“I guess you could say yes to that, Harlan,” she admitted. “She thought I could use some cheering up after losing my job with the Evans’ and said you could be that solution. That’s how Veronica is.”  
  
He was the one to smile now. “Well, has it worked? I’d like to hope that’s been the case and I haven’t just been the boring bank teller.”  
  
Christine felt she would never stop grinning with pure joy in his company. “Well,” she said. “You’ve been pretty nice, but I admit I _do_ worry about you bringing up the virtues of different accounts.”  
  
If she delighted in his presence, that was expressed three-fold for how he felt around her. She was a sweetheart (whether or not she would admit it), and her sense of humor kept a conversation lively. “I leave my work at the door of the bank when I leave,” he reassured her. “No worries, Christine.”  
  
When the waitress came by the pair asked for a refill on their drinks; not wanting that so much as a chance to linger in talk and a chance to evade the weather outside, where but a few short moments before the snow began to fall. The girl wearing the surname of Winter had no desire to be intimate with the season’s touch at that moment yet. The Ford noticed that the other young couple had left, leaving only them in the café – a rare instance for Aurora but one to take advantage of in enjoyment also. Perhaps the combination of the weather and Sunday kept many others indoors or just entirely elsewhere from the Mile High.  
  
Small, wet flakes spattered onto the plate-glass window. Christine watched as they melted and traced their way across the many paths those before them had left. She turned back to her companion. Even in the dimming light from the storm closing in, his flawless silver paint softly sparkled.  
  
 _Like stars in the sky fallen to earth._  
  
“Harlan,” she began, her voice soft. “Can I ask you something?”  
  
His even gaze changed none. “Of course you can,” he assured. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out before speaking.  
  
“Have I interfered? It’s a worry I admit I’ve had.” Her grey eyes met his, seriousness within their stormy-colored depths.  
  
“Interfered?” the sedan asked. “How?”  
  
Not so long ago Christine had been vehement about not dating the man Veronica had set her up with to go to the cinema; now the words to come lodged in her throat, nearly unwilling to come, as if silence meant they would never be so.  
  
“Have I interfered,” she clarified, “with any other girls’ interests in you?”  
  
The confusion in the Cadillac’s blue eyes was replaced with a deeper variety of their commonplace warmth. Now he understood and read what was unsaid. He shook his long hood. The clouded sky no longer permitted his chrome to gleam; faint sparkles only glanced off of it from the Mile High’s scattered glass bowl ceiling lamps.  
  
“No one now, Christine,” he told her.  
  
“But… how not?” she asked. For her to be the only one in Aurora to find him appealing at this particular time struck her as strange.  
  
“Two reasons,” he answered, waiting for the waitress to finish cleaning the table nearest them before continuing. “Not long before your friend played matchmaker – at the start of this month – I had a girlfriend.”  
  
Christine dipped back on her rear shocks, suddenly feeling like an intruder. “I didn’t know! I…”  
  
He brought her words to a halt as he slowly shook his hood again. “There’s nothing wrong you did, Christine. Before Veronica had paired us up to go to the movies, Celeste and I had already broken up.”  
  
“I’m sorry…” the Ford murmured.  
  
“It was for the best. We didn’t want the same things in life and for the year I’d come close to knowing her, I was in denial. I kept thinking it’d work. She didn’t want to live in Colorado – I enjoy it here – and she wanted three or more kids – I’d rather have none. It could never be a truly happy relationship with those opposites.”  
  
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “Your other reason?”  
  
He wouldn’t answer her until she fully met his eyes. Only then he smiled warmly and spoke to her. “My other reason there’s no one else is that I’m not looking. I have no reason to.” He leaned his long, silver frame to the side, an expression questioning even before more had been said. “I have you. Don’t I?”  
  
Although she had started to reach for her drink again, the Ford was suddenly glad she hadn’t taken it. Had she, she likely would have dropped it for it to fall to the tiled floor below with a sharp shatter. What she heard now she never expected to hear. Not outside of any dream, that is. She looked at the limousine. In the talk of opposites, he was the crowning feature. They were so different.  
  
“You want… me?” she said, her voice barely coming out above a whisper. “But… why? Look at me.”  
  
“I am looking at you.” he gently countered. Suddenly nothing else in the small café seemed real. None of the clatters of the dishes being washed; neither the pages being flipped in the waiting waitress’s novel behind the far counter. Least of all did the street outside the window exist.  
  
“Well, then, you see,” Christine replied. “I’m a plain girl with even plainer paint. I’m drab, Harlan. I’m unsightly. I’m –”  
  
“– Beautiful.” he easily filled in. “In my eyes, you’re beautiful.”  
  
“But…” she faltered. Deep in her heart, she wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe the thing that he said that was different from even Frank’s telling. He said she was “pretty.” “Beautiful” was a word with much deeper meaning and standards to live up to.  
  
For Harlan, at any other instance, he would’ve met that painful sort of unconfident behavior with a gentle, reassuring touch to make the bluntness of words ingrained in deeper meaning. But this was out in public (never embarrass a girl in public, even when it’s surely not on purpose) and more of a problem than that, she could be startled by any advancement. He could only look upon her and her mysterious paint that had shifted from deep blue to black upon the clouds taking over the sun and hope she read and saw the plain compassion in his expression.  
  
“My eyes haven’t lied to me yet, Christine,” he told her. “And I never lie to a lady. I’ll guess thoughtless men play with a woman’s feelings and with her heart, but although I have my share of faults, I hope being inconsiderate and careless isn’t one of them.”  
  
She felt the sting of tears in her eyes again. He really thought she was “beautiful,” not the more apt “pretty.” Although she was still rattled, she retrieved her now-cold coffee; a prop now more than a pleasure as it saved her from saying what she did not even know.  
  
The silver limousine watched her with careful eyes. “I find you to be a lovely lady, with your looks and your personality.” He smiled softly. “I’m honestly glad your friend played matchmaker, but if this isn’t right for you, I have no other choice than to respect that. Now, although I can’t determine what the future entails, for these immediate times, I confess I’d be very glad to call you my girl.”  
  
Once this had been said, he asked no more of her. She mulled it over in her mind as the snow still fell. She knew what she hoped for under her devastating doubts. Carefully she smiled at the Cadillac, at the car that was her opposite in so many ways but whose presence made her so happy each time they’d met.  
  
“I’ll be your girl, Harlan,” she promised.  
  
When the storm abated to softer flurries the town left the cozy warmth of the Mile High for the winter’s stark chill. Upon returning home, Christine’s dark paint was flecked by small, still-frozen snowflakes. Against Harlan’s silver, they nearly blended in. In a gentleman’s fashion, he drew to a halt in the white front yard, seeking not a portion of the wide porch overhang the Ford had been quick to shelter under.  
  
She thanked him for taking her out. Inside her heart in words unsaid, she also thanked him for adding warmth to the chill of winter; of the Winter she carried with her even under the July sun.  
  
“It’s a pleasure, Christine,” he assured her. “You’re a joy to be with.”  
  
“You are too.” she softly said. Although he did not join her under the porch he pulled nearer, better to meet her grey eyes.  
  
“I won’t keep you any longer in this weather, but before I let you go, there’re just two more things.”  
  
The heat from his still-running motor permitted no flakes to linger on his long hood; what ones did swiftly melted to travel in trails off the sides and end of it, slowly sliding back down to earth. She noticed this with a clearer gaze than before.  
  
“Yes?” she permitted.  
  
“May I see you again next week, same day?” he asked. Now she smiled.  
  
“I would like that,” she told him, nodding.  
  
Then with a smoothly graceful gesture, he leaned over, sparing only the end of his hood from the falling snow beneath the porch’s shelter, to give her the considerate courter’s kiss on the fender side. Before he had moved back once more, Christine had made up her mind. Veronica would say Frank had gotten more than he deserved. Put it where it’s due.  
  
“And thank you for being my girl,” he finished with this. She turned to lightly kiss the side of his snow-capped silver fender in return. He hadn’t expected this and wouldn’t have asked it from her at any point, but within he was glad. Her grey eyes met his from under their partial shadow.  
  
“You’re welcome, Harlan,” she said. “I’m glad to be.” _For better or for worse_.  
  
He was left wondering how soon love could truly take place. Only a few dates in, true, but he swore he felt the start of it for a Ford with midnight paint. Older folks would shake their hoods in dismay, but youth knew no boundaries.

  
. . . .

  
Veronica was happy at how things were progressing for her best friend and the phone call Christine had dutifully sent her way wasn’t enough. Without much better to do herself, she took it upon herself to hear it all in person that upcoming Tuesday. Now the two ladies sat together in the Ford’s small sitting room. Outside the picture window snow sat in windblown drifts. Crispy blades of grass from the winter-deadened lawn pricked through in thinner spots. Within the room warmth from the woodstove prevailed. Reflections from the fire danced across the glass over a large-format print of Pikes Peak on the opposite wall.  
  
Veronica hated that picture. It was so dull. Aside from that though, Frank had given it to her friend as a parting gift. She loathed Frank. She had nothing against trucks and nothing against hard workers, but he just was strange. Enough of him, though.  
  
“So, you said on the phone that there’s something really wonderful that that silver-plated stud asked you.” Veronica hinted, setting her coffee aside and grinning at her companion. “And don’t deny that he _is_ a stud. A man with a chassis that classy paired with those gorgeous sky-blue eyes deserves that honor. Let’s not forget those nice, wide whitewalls.”  
  
Christine groaned. “Veronica, do you always have to bring up the whitewalls?”  
  
“Well, they _are_ nice.” she countered. “I’m more amazed you didn’t censor me for calling him a stud.”  
  
“I was getting to that.”  
  
“But you didn’t mention it first. Hmm…” She took a sip of her drink. “That must mean you agree with it, at some point.”  
  
“He’s kissed me twice, Ronnie. I can’t think something so drastic that soon.” Christine countered, retrieving her own cup. Her friend shrugged.  
  
“Well, I would.”  
  
“You mean you _are_ since you said it.”  
  
“ _Que sera sera_.” The Chevy chuckled. “So, dazzle me. What did our stud say so delightful you wouldn’t share on the phone?”  
  
At the mention of that very word again, Christine failed at not blushing. Veronica noticed it and simply smirked. She knew how her friend felt even if she wouldn’t admit it.  
  
“He asked me to be his girl.” the Ford said, her mind reeling again at recalling that moment she hadn’t realized quite how much she’d hoped for till it had been said. Veronica cut her friend an approving smirk with her smile and with her ebony-lined eyes.  
  
“Mmmm, guess he’s _your_ stud now, Chris.” She winked. “Cheers to you, girl.”  
  
If it was possible (oh yes, it was), Christine’s blush deepened. “ _Veronica_!! I really can’t believe you sometimes!”  
  
Veronica waved it off. “You’ve got yourself one hell of a man. Or, at least, I think you do. You _did_ accept, didn’t you?” She took a sip of her coffee and intently watched her friend. Christine wouldn’t answer until the majority of her blush subsided. This was okay with the Chevy. She could wait – and wonder.  
  
“Yes,” the darker car eventually answered. “Yes, I told him I’d be his girl.”  
  
Veronica sighed with relief. “Good. I was really hoping you’d say that. Wow. How did it feel for you when he asked that? Bet you were shocked.”  
  
Christine finished her coffee. “Yes,” she confessed, sitting her cup aside. “I almost cried.”  
  
The Chevy leaned over to give her friend a reassuring nuzzle. “Well… I hope you didn’t give him a wrong idea with the emotions, girl. Men can get confused sometimes and when any hinting of weeping comes about, they can balk and think they’re at fault.”  
  
She met the other car’s deep-brown eyes. “I don’t think he got the wrong idea.” A soft little smile curved her chromed lips. “I did kiss him after I thanked him for taking me out, and I agreed to another date next Sunday.”  
  
Veronica swooned. “You kissed him! It’s about time, Chris! Oh, now I triply envy you. You accidentally brushed up against him when you backed up that day; you agreed to become his girl, _and_ you kissed him. I’d give my spare tire to brush up against that big, strong man with either my side or my lips.”  
  
Christine had endured enough of her friend’s embarrassing talk to gain permission to fire something as saucy back. “Well, you might want to watch what you’re saying now, Ronnie. You’re encroaching on my guy.”  
  
“Oh pshaw.” the Chevy flippantly said. “I already told you he and I would make an awful pair with our light colors. I’m still waiting for that sexy truck to drive into my side of Aurora and steal my heart.”  
  
“You really like trucks a lot, don’t you? I don’t think you’ve actually dated another car since I’ve known you.” Christine remarked.  
  
“Oh, no reason to. What I want is someone different from me in a relationship, and trucks fit the bill. Don’t diss what you don’t know, sweetie. I like a bed below me and a bed above me.” Veronica casually finished the rest of her coffee and sat the cup beside her friend’s. “You have to know how different it is from being with Frank. He was odd but he was still a truck.”  
  
“I guess…?” Christine awkwardly allowed. Wonderfully blunt Veronica always said something that’d sooner or later cause a flush of embarrassment. She wasn’t eager to egg her friend on with a show of this so she strived to tamp down her reactions.  
  
“The problem with Frank though was that he wasn’t extended-bed. I like those longer ones. They make the man a lot heftier looking. I like hefty men. Don’t fly off the handle at me when I say this, but your man is hefty in a purely elegant way. He’s got class falling out of his lug nuts. I can already say with surety that he’ll be a lot better than Frank was at further connections if you get my gist.” She sighed, thinking of the sleek, silver Cadillac. “What a man to lose virginity to. Too bad both of us messed up in our even younger days with fly-by-night cads whose names forever evade us.” She shook her white hood in regret. Christine decided this was a perfect moment to leave the room to take care of refilling their cups. Also, it was an excuse to go red in private and not be subjected to further commentary by Veronica. Unfortunately, by the time she returned and set the filled cup before her friend, the white Chevy hadn’t gone off the subject that easy.  
  
“Well, there’re two things you’ll have to do next, Chris. Two things you’ll have to put on your immediate bucket list.”  
  
“Do I want to know?” the Ford inquired, settling down by her best friend once more. Before either could speak further, a log in the woodstove interjected with a sharp pop as it broke apart. Christine watched the flames briefly before turning back to the Chevy.  
  
Veronica took a sip of her fresh coffee. “Two things, girl. Kiss that man straight on the mouth and make passionate love. Either do them both at the same time or skip a day.”  
  
Christine realized there would be no saving herself from this sort of talk with her companion tonight but still cried in astonishment either way. “Veronica!!! I just can’t believe how liberal you are with your words sometimes!!”  
  
The white car winked at her friend. “Honey, it’s just talking truth. Both of those points are very important to address. What if he’s awful at kissing? What if he’s awful in bed? A genuine flop? That’d be dreadful to deal with in a marriage. And don’t say it wouldn’t be, because it would. The honeymoon-phase magic would wear off real fast if he couldn’t do either of those worth a tinker's dam.” She outheld her cup to her friend. “Come on, we need to make a toast.”  
  
“Ronnie…” Christine grumbled.  
  
“You’ll remember this evening with warm and fuzzy feelings one day. C’mon now.”  
  
The Ford joined in with her mug and over the crackling of the fire, their cups clinked together. Veronica broadly smiled. “To your handsome man, and to the To-Do List that entails him.”


	6. Chapter 6

**SIX  
**  
  
Christine was sure the red is what she noticed first; deep, crimson red as plush as velvet. Whether it was truly remarkable or whether it was courtesy simply of the winter sun which dared to show, she was certain she hadn’t seen a rose as lovely as the one the silver 1939 Cadillac presented her with, held rakishly in his teeth.  
  
The gesture was so sweet a delightfully surprised smile leaped to the Ford’s face. Such a beautiful blossom would’ve been a treat anyway, but purely so with snow everywhere she looked. It quickly made a perfect centerpiece to her sitting-room table, and when she had faced him anew her smile still shone, gilding her with even lovelier beauty, the Cadillac thought.  
  
“Thank you, Harlan. You’re a sweet guy,” she said, having kissed him in the fashion he kept for her. She’d tackle the first thing on her friend’s list later. The second thing? So far in the future, she didn’t see it.  
  
He threw her a wink. “I didn’t do that just to be called a ‘sweet guy’ though, Christine.”  
  
Seeing where this conversation was headed, she grinned brighter. “I have a feeling you still are one.”  
  
When he too realized the parallel from seven days before, the look of knowing passed before his blue eyes. He knew he’d been had and was caught.  
  
“Got you,” she playfully teased. By saying this, she’d driven in a lot more than she’d been expecting. The big limousine moved in to give her a gentle and affection nuzzle, his fender against hers. This came as a shock, but not an awful one to the Ford. The warm touch was far more than she could’ve expected from a car of his greater length and greater style that could so easily be flaunted arrogantly by another man.  
  
“So you did get me,” he agreed, “and you may have a little dash of your friend’s spark, but to me, you’re still a genuine sweetheart.”  
  
Without a thought of anything otherwise, she found herself willingly returning the affection. Her grey eyes hadn’t strayed from his. “Do you really think so, Harlan?”  
  
He softly smiled and pressed his gleaming, silver fender into hers in a reassuring touch. “Not think. I know it, darling.”  
  
She couldn’t think of anywhere she wanted to go so asked, somewhat tentatively, if it’d be alright to spend a little time on the still-snowy but sunny back patio of her home. Her backyard was small but the large bushes planted along the fence line afford privacy from her neighbors. She brushed a thin layer of that evening’s snow from the top of the small table in an apologetic fashion.  
  
“I should’ve thought to do this earlier,” she sighed as she pushed the white stuff aside to the redbrick patio floor. One enthusiastic sweep cast a shower of flakes out and over Harlan’s front. She gasped, mortified at her action. He gave his long hood a casual shake, not in the least concerned.  
  
“A little snow never hurt me,” he said with a chuckle. She looked up at him, surprised at his disregard for what she feared was a bit of an offense, and the cheering smile he wore to discount it compelled her to giggle. He looked not in the least bit bothered. “Nothing to worry about,” he added to be sure she knew. She did now, and the tenseness she’d felt quickly faded from under his warm expression. Nothing could accomplish that better than the simple sharing of a laugh.  
  
“Tell me about yourself, Christine,” he asked when the snow situation had blown over. She set her coffee aside and hesitated.  
  
“I’m not really all that amazing, you know.”  
  
“Don’t assume that,” he said. “Just because you don’t street race down Alameda Avenue at 1 AM doesn’t mean you’re not amazing.” He met her eyes. “ Or… I’m guessing you don’t street race.”  
  
She burst out laughing. “Me? I’m sleeping then like most folks. Maybe _you_ street race?”  
  
“Imagine that!” he chuckled. “Well, that’d be the last paycheck I got from the bank then. There’s young and crazy and then there’s just young. I’m the latter.”  
  
“And then there’s young and unremarkable,” Christine said.  
  
“Everyone has a story,” he told her. She stared off at the bare tree in the far corner of the yard. She knew her life and it was not too tale-worthy. But it appeared he wanted to hear it, either way. She sighed.  
  
“I was born here in Aurora,” she replied. “Grew up with a loving mom who made up for everything else.”  
  
He waited to see if she would say more, but when quiet prevailed he reconsidered. “Everything else?” It was asked gently and not in a prying fashion. She looked at her hood ornament.  
  
“The other kids I played with who always seemed to make fun of me at some point. My unknown father. Mom always said from the time I could understand that my shifting paint made me ‘special,’ but after getting mocked month after month and called Wishy-Washy Chrissy as often, it meant nothing. How can a girl believe she’s ‘special’ when kids younger than her poke rude fun, and a date-hopeful laughs at her and literally leaves her in the dust? I wanted to get repainted for a long time but I could never afford the overhaul. Veronica said if I dared get repainted she wouldn’t talk to me for a year.” At this, the Ford allowed a small smile. “And I believe her. She says my color is fine. But, she hated her original black and got repainted also, so…”  
  
She took a sip of her cooling coffee and looked again at her companion. His pearlescent paint sparkling in the sunlight was so beautiful. So flawless; such a color and so clean it could never be mocked. “Am I boring you?” she softly asked.  
  
“Of course not. Don’t ever think that,” he told her. She knew it was not a lie, the way he said it. Even Frank had grown restless after sharing as much. This care made her wish she could be beside him, but she kept her post.  
  
“I developed a dislike of him for that reason too. That’s what I call my dad most, ‘him’ or ‘he.’ I don’t know him. He’s my father only by action; only because he won over my mom one night. Once he learned she had become pregnant, he was gone. My poor mom has had to go it alone. She doesn’t talk about him. Sometimes…” Her voice trailed off briefly. “Sometimes I still wonder if I was wanted. I don’t see how. Mom was young, like me. I can’t imagine having a baby now. I wasn’t planned.”  
  
Christine could speak these harsh words so emotionless because she had thought them over in the dead of night so many times. She set her cup on the slightly icy table.  
  
“The past can’t be changed, Christine, but…”  
  
She looked up to meet the silver car’s blue eyes, saying nothing. He tried an appropriately mild sort of smile on her.  
  
“You’re wanted, honey, more than you likely know. ‘He’ was a coward by the actions he took, and I am sorry. You deserve a lot better than that. At least you have a caring mother and a friend like Veronica.”  
  
Christine was persuaded to smile at this point. “Crazy, wonderful Veronica. As much as she can embarrass me with the bizarre things she says out of left field, I can’t imagine life without her.”  
  
“See? That’s a good point to know her.”  
  
She nodded, reassured by his words. Her light smile turned a little brighter as she looked at him. “I guess I have you, too.”  
  
“I have no plans on leaving you unless that’s what you tell me to do,” he told her, grinning. “I’m a pretty dedicated guy if I don’t get dismissed.”  
  
“So, I’m stuck with you like I am with those pesky pebbles in my tire treads,” she said. He shrugged.  
  
“I guess so, although I hope I’m a little nicer than that annoyance.”  
  
This was met with a warm laugh on her end. She pushed aside her cup, and having made her decision, drifted to his side of the patio. Her liking of him had quietly turned to adoration since the night he had kissed her and said she was beautiful without lying. Leaning his way she nuzzled his left front fender. His silver side took on a deeper, bluish tone reflecting off her. Likewise, hers took on a pearled shimmer.  
  
“You’re much nicer,” she corrected. “Now, I’ve said all I want to about me right now. I want to know about you.”  
  
Without any preamble, he lightly nuzzled her in return as he began to speak. She couldn’t deny her enjoyment of this; he had a wonderful touch. “Well,” he said. “I’m from here originally, same as you. Never been outside the state because I guess I’ve had no reason to. I have a sister. I picked on her when we were small.” His blue eyes met her grey. “Try not to hold that against me.”  
  
She couldn’t help but smile. “I won’t, Harlan.”  
  
“Thank you. See, I knew you were a sweetheart.” He threw her a wink. “My parents are together and have a normal relationship, I’d say. I was raised to be decent and I hope I’ve lived up to that standard. My mother always said when I was a kid that just because I’m a Cadillac doesn’t give me an excuse to be a cad.”  
  
Christine softly laughed. “I don’t think you’re that. I’ve known ‘cads’ and Veronica has pointed out plenty. She can see them a mile away I think. All she has for you is praise. Oh, and also glowing reviews on your whitewalls.”  
  
The silver car was amused by this. “Really? My whitewalls? That’s the first I’ve heard of there being ‘glowing reviews’ on them.”  
  
The Ford shrugged. “Well, Veronica loves ‘nice, wide whitewalls,’ in her words.” She let her eyes linger in a manner no less than tender on her companion; the one who respected her and truly made her feel special in a way she didn’t think was possible. “I told her to watch it and not encroach on you.”  
  
Harlan smiled anew. “I’m not swayed that easy. I’m like the rock stuck in the tread, remember?”  
  
She gave him a playful shove. “You just won’t let that bad analogy go, will you?”  
  
“Hey, it works,” he said. “And, believe me, that bank’s standards are the reason that white has to stay so clean.” He leaned her way in a conspiratorial fashion. “If you want the truth, that is what really cinched the deal of me no longer racing down Alameda at 2 AM with the guys.”  
  
Her eyes widened before she caught on to what was left silent. Then they quickly narrowed although if she has asked her opinion, he still would’ve considered her plenty cute looking. “You’re fooling me…”  
  
“Guilty as charged,” he admitted. “As I said, I’m not young and crazy. Just young.”  
  
“That’s okay with me,” she told.  
  
As they sat on a porch that now was slicked with water from the melting snow atop it, great clouds scudded like sailing ships across the blue sea of the sky. They were remotely harmless looking; just great puffs that added more interest value to the stark winter blue than to cause gloom to those on earth.  
  
Just sitting there and enjoying the rare type of day was nicer than anything Christine could think of to have done out in the midst of the suburbs that particular Sunday. It was true; someone didn’t have to be some _where_ to enjoy their company.

  
. . . .

  
Tuesday afternoon.  
  
Harlan had finished his day at the 1st Bank of Aurora. As he had told Christine, there were good days at work and bad days. That was how the public was. This day had been a mix of both. All things considered, he was glad it was over till Wednesday. What he realized now kept him anticipating his day off was _her_. And yet, despite how much he loved her company (more than he wanted to show all at once to someone who had their shyer qualities), there was still lingering guilt.  
  
Did it seem like he’d moved on without a second thought after the split with Celeste?  
  
Although the Cadillac was young, he thought of these sorts of things more than many of his same age. He had been raised to be a decent guy, true, but was the unprecedented switch from Celeste to Christine hasty? Unthinking? Caddish? He just hadn’t expected to really enjoy the more-or-less “blind date” to that extent. All he knew for sure was to what degree he was beginning to adore the midnight-blue Ford.  
  
In the mail was a single envelope, plain but wearing the writing of the one who still was often in his thoughts despite everything. There was no return address. This he was not surprised by. It only made sense.  
  
In the cool evening shadows that encroached into the homes of everyone that time of year, he read the lengthy note:  


* * *

  
_October 1940  
  
Dear Harlan,  
  
I hope you’re well.  
  
It was a long drive, just like you said it would be, but here everything is like I hoped. The weather treats me fairer than those blustery Rocky Mountain winters did, and I don’t have to spend so many days watching the hundredth snowflake spin down from the sky. It hasn’t snowed at all here – yet. I don’t think it will, though. Locals say it’s pretty rare.  
  
It goes without saying that, despite everything, I miss you. I know we have our differences that never had a chance of creating a happy union for us both, but still… now that we’re parted I feel it’s as good of a time as any to admit I often dreamt of becoming ‘Mrs. Beaumont,’ even while knowing it was just that: a dream.  
  
So while I am on that subject, I hope you will find another, where your wants are very equal; something to ensure a more guaranteed relationship. As the sweetest guy I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing, you surely deserve it. Any woman who gets to know you like I knew you are in for a treat. When that chosen lady comes about, I hope she’ll wear the name of Mrs. Beaumont with pride. It’s certainly an honor.  
  
I’d tell you where it was I moved to here in Texas, but I’d best not. It’s time we went our separate ways for good; no seeking me out. Although my heart longs plenty for your warmth and your touch, I promise to not seek you either. The drive to Aurora would be long, but nothing would be too testing to see you. I have to put it out of my mind and we both have to move on. This is why I did not put a return address on the envelope also. If I did, it’d just be a temptation. As for you? It was hard (so very hard) but after I wrote this I burned the slip of paper I had with your address on it. That gets rid of the physical remains of our past life, but of course, I still remember it very clearly. Having spent more than one wonderful day at your place, your street number is etched into memory.   
  
I have gone on thru the whole of this letter sounding like a love-struck girl, haven’t I? Forgive me. You’re a wonderful presence in my memories, not only as of the most handsome man I’ve known but the most caring one also. Dazzle another lady with your ways. You’ll always have a special place in my heart though.  
  
All of my best,  
  
Celeste_  


* * *

  
Just reading those words again brought to crystal-clarity all she had spoken of. Yes, how many evenings she had enlivened with her ways. How many times she’d spent her nights there, and how wonderful it was to awake with the company of another as an opposite to the stark solitude so many other days of the month held. It was rare but a time worth remembering. And yes, how many times also he’d planned on the when and where to ask her to marry him even while her talk of something he could never give rang as loud as the church bells on those crisp Sunday mornings when their tolling echoed over Aurora’s bustle. Her hinting at wanting one child had been something he’d convinced himself to be alright with, but at her fonder hopes of 3 or more, he knew it was a lost wish. He wasn’t suitable for a role as a parent, having never been comfortable around kids for longer than need be, and the more he tried to convince himself the more he knew that had he forged ahead with plans, a marriage would only be guaranteed unhappiness.  
  
Celeste deserved far better than that.  
  
If you love someone enough, let them go. If they come back, they were meant to be.  
  
She was not meant to be. All he could do was silently wish her all she had dreamed of while they were dating, and for someone to understand and be better for it.  
  
Outside the heavy, roiling clouds were convening. Somewhere on far Pikes Peak, snow frosted the limber pines.

  
. . . .

  
The snow kept up, on and off, the whole of that week. He had promised her a visit Sunday which became a day that exemplified winter in all of its worst qualities: blowing wind, ceaseless snow, and a crisp bite to the air. Those who didn’t have to be outside weren’t. Lights blazed behind every curtain as every fireplace in ownership flickered and sent sharply-scented smoke through the air and up to the blue-grey clouds. It would’ve been the sort of day Celeste would have kept the drapes shut to, preferring to see what was inside, in the warmth.  
  
Christine was unhappy to see such an ugly storm and while trying not to think of it all too much, realized the slated time set last week by her paramour (Veronica had taken to calling him that) would likely not come to fruition. There was really no reason it could. It was icky. A time to stay inside. She sat before her fire with a book her friend had given her, hoping the storm may abate by 2 but realizing it most likely wouldn’t.  
  
On the other side of town though, one man was determined to keep his promise. He may have been a Cadillac, but he had never been a cad, and he sure didn’t want to start racking up instances of the latter now.  
  
Ten minutes before two, the doorbell rang. Not expecting this – especially over the din of the wind – Christine was startled. She looked at the clock. It couldn’t be… Regardless, she tossed her book on the coffee table, alongside the vase bearing the single, glorious rose, and made for the door. Quickly she unlocked it and then opened her home to the storm. And wrongly, she began to giggle.  
  
Her ‘paramour,’ normally such a regal car, was plastered with ice crystals and snow clung to the tops of his fenders, headlights, and even now his hood. The fluffy flurry lent him such a funny look she couldn’t help but laugh, despite how chilly the air rushing into the house was, and how unpleasant it must’ve been for the poor fellow wearing the mess. Aside from his blue eyes and recognizable design, he didn’t stand out too much.  
  
“Who are you and what did you do with my Harlan?” she teased. Instead of looking irate from the compromised situation, he merely shrugged it off. Or, shook it, in this case, sending a cascade of snow off the sides of his hood to clear it mostly.  
  
“I think the real, cleaned-up one got lost around the same time his imposter happened to drive by a rooftop edge that decided at that moment to dump a load onto him. What bad luck!” he sighed, feigning hefty dismay which only caused her to laugh again.  
  
“Should I wait for the real McCoy or should I let you in?” she good-humoredly said, smiling in what he had learned was her typical, sweet fashion. He shrugged.  
  
“Well, the way I see it, if you wait, I’ll just get completely snowed under out here; a strange piece of yard décor that won’t make sense until the big melts come.”  
  
She backed away from the door. “Well, okay. You can come in, Stranger. Just don’t be shifty.”  
  
“I promise,” he assured her. “Although I can’t promise to not drip melted snow in your home.”  
  
She held the door wider, permitting entry with her eyes. “Oh, it won’t be the first time.” she lightly said. “Veronica’s done it plenty before too.”  
  
He thanked her and carefully pulled into the hallway. She pushed the door shut and then faced him with a smile. “That was some pile that fell on you. I didn’t think you’d be out today, Harlan.”  
  
In the heat of the house water already began to slide down his fenders and drip onto the cranberry-colored rug. He smiled at her; the warmth of it filling in whatever the room lacked.  
  
“I made you a promise, honey. A little bad weather won’t make me break it, you know. I _do_ enjoy seeing my girl.”  
  
She could only wear a permanent grin on the surprise of his visit. She was so happy and even feeling a dash flirty in his company. “Well, if we’re being honest, I enjoy seeing you too, handsome.” She leaned over to kiss the side of his fender. When she pulled back, her eyes met his. “You know, if you _are_ Mr. Beaumont’s imposter, you aren’t too bad.”


	7. Chapter 7

**SEVEN  
**  
  
Talk between the pair was resumed before the comfort of the fire since any other prospects of a date outside of the house were out. Most of the snow had melted off of the Cadillac. Trails of water glimmered over the sparkle of his paint, which was even prettier in the firelight. A variety of conversation topics were shared. Harlan played the part of a considerate individual and willingly answered anything she threw back his way, and always with good spirits. Since he knew she wasn’t fond of outright relaying her life story, he used other questions to find out more about her. The party-style of the asking caused laughs in several instances.  
  
“What’s your favorite color?” he asked her. She passed him a cup after she’d topped off her own coffee. Her eyes drifted up the print of Pikes Peak that Frank had given her.  
  
“I don’t know if I’ve ever thought much about that. I love yellow a lot.”  
  
“A good, bright color,” he said, nodding. She mirrored this.  
  
“True. And you, Harlan?”  
  
Now it was his turn to be indecisive. “As a kid I liked green but now I’ve drifted more towards blues. Of course, what looks good on one thing won’t on another.” He set his drink aside. “Alright. What about a fond hope or dream? Doesn’t have to be important to the world. Just to you.”  
  
She took a sip of her coffee. Several minutes passed for the midnight Ford as she thought. No one had asked her this, aside from Veronica. What was a hope? A dream? A silly one came to mind first.  
  
“Well, you said it can be unimportant, so… I hate winter – the season. I loathe my last name because of it. It’s so cold. I’d like to wake up one day as a new lady, I guess.” Quickly she changed the attention from being on her. “What about yourself?”  
  
He smiled gently. “Well, I think I’ve already got one of my hopes realized: a sweet lady who I might have a better chance of keeping.”  
  
She found herself touched by this but did not linger on these feelings. “Harlan, are you sure I didn’t cause the split between you and your girlfriend? You don’t have to spare me if it really did happen like that.”  
  
“I’m sure,” he promised her even as her final words cut deep within his heart. How could she feel so bland about herself? What really would make her think a cruel word was acceptable? He looked upon her with only caring feelings threaded between with honest sadness. He leaned towards her and nuzzled her fender with his own. “It was nothing you did,” he reassured her. “It was only a situation that wasn’t meant to be.”  
  
Her eyes drifted closed upon his touch. Lightly she leaned into it, not thinking then about her being just a plain car and him being so elite. She was simply a girl enjoying the affections of a fellow who cared about her. How deeply that care ran was yet unknown to her though.  
  
Harlan was highly considerate of what he said and what he did, never wanting to seem too bold, but a moment had come now where a “bolder” motive was needed. He could say what he wanted but, as the old maxim went, actions spoke louder than words. The nuzzle which he gave her ran long but when he moved slightly back, the gestures of affection weren’t over. For the whole of that day and those afterward, Christine wouldn’t soon forget the initial shock and then trumping pleasure that came when he leaned in, his gleaming grille brushing hers, to give her a kiss that spoke louder than the ones he’d maintained before this date on her fender sides only. Whatever doubts she had about his interest in her were erased by it. The only emotion beneath the affection was that which could only be called love.  
  
The Ford felt like she would surely cry from happiness when the Cadillac leaned back upon the gesture’s ceasing. She would have to have been ignorant to not see the warmth in those blue eyes the hue of winter’s ice. He placed his grille against hers.  
  
“I may not get some things right, but I have no more doubts on this now: you are my hope realized, honey. In so many ways, you’re what I never knew I honestly needed in life.”  
  
She gave him a little nudge. “You sound like a romance novel.”  
  
He could only smile. “Well, it’s true.”  
  
“You’re opposite of any other guy I’ve known.” she began. “Of course, Veronica set us up together also, so I suppose I have her to thank as I could never have tried to pick you otherwise.” She smiled. “You make me feel special though, and like I really have a chance to be called pretty.”  
  
“I didn’t say ‘pretty,” he gently interjected. “I said ‘beautiful.”  
  
“One thing at a time. I can only accept something like that in small amounts, so ‘pretty’ it is right now. You actually say it in a way I can try to believe as if I’m not some plain girl but something who’s truly as pretty as you – with that silver paint – if you’re okay with that word.”  
  
“I’m okay with it,” he reassured. They joined for a second kiss, one that ran a little longer than the first now that they were surer of each other. When parted, she came around to pull parallel to him to lightly tilt the whole of her frame against his polished out silver one. Her grey eyes met his.  
  
“Is it also okay if I say that I think I love you, Harlan?” she shyly asked.  
  
He leaned his body against hers, adding meaning to his own words. “Of course it is,” he told her. “Because I _know_ that I do love you, Christine.”  
  
Eventually, the Ford gave in wholly and rested on the broad flank of the big male Cadillac. Having put Frank and the few others she’d had relationships with within the gone past, she had also tried to forget what it was like to be on the receiving end of these devoted sorts of feelings. That first kiss, though, brought it all back and more and at that moment she wanted to be nowhere else and wanted to be nothing else except simply Harlan Beaumont’s girl.

  
. . . .

  
As far as Veronica could see, everything was going even _better_ than she had hoped for between her best friend and the “knight in silver armor,” although she still had some things she wanted to be cleared up and one of them entailed her own meeting with the limousine at some near-future day. Alarm bells went off in her mind when she asked her friend a telling question.  
  
“So, do you know where the stud lives yet, Chris?” she asked whilst the two shared the back porch on a fairly pleasant afternoon. Christine shook her hood.  
  
“Not yet, but I haven’t asked. I figure it’s best to take one thing at a time.”  
  
Veronica didn’t seem to hear this “He hasn’t invited you over?? Oh, Ford… this could be a bad sign.”  
  
“What..?” Christine asked, startled by this response. The white Chevy tsked.  
  
“You know how men are, girl. They love showing off their abode for a variety of reasons: One, once his main-squeeze knows, she can come over any time. Two, it’s fun for overnighters, if you know what I mean. Three, it’s just what happens. Frank invited you to his dinky place, didn’t he? Correct me if I’m wrong.”  
  
“He did,”  
  
“And the dashing Mr. Beaumont has remained as mum as someone sworn to secrecy… that isn’t good at all. True, he could just be considerate and unwilling to seem like he’s pushing you into visiting him or, in the worst-case scenario, his place is uglier than a mine-shaft – as dark as one too – and he collects something weird he doesn’t want his lady-love seeing.”  
  
“Weird like how?” Christine inquired. “Frank collected seed-packets from the farm.”  
  
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Harlan probably is just as crazy and he has air filters lying around, or something equally bizarre. Oh boy. He could have _body parts_ in his cellar! I’m really glad now that you just said you _think_ you love him because this could be the clincher to either throw it over the edge into bliss or send it burning to ruins.”  
  
Christine laughed. “You’re being a little dramatic, Ronnie. First, you say you approve of him and want me to be with him and now you’re afraid he collects air filters as art. And body parts? Really?? You know how the 1st Bank’s standards are; I don’t think they’d allow someone off their nut to work for them.”  
  
Veronica shook her white hood. “Everyone has a rusty chassis or two in their closets, Chris. All I know is that you cannot proceed any further with this joker unless I get these matters straightened out.” She set her coffee cup aside. “I have to go.”  
  
“Go? But why?” the Ford inquired. Veronica turned to meet her friend’s baffled expression.  
  
“I have to go down to the bank and ask him where he lives and get a physical address, not just some pathetic response. It’s almost closing time. I need to get there before he checks out for the day.”  
  
Christine’s grey eyes went wide. “Veronica, I don’t think –”  
  
The white Chevrolet waved this off. “Yes, it is necessary. And if I don’t get him when my turn comes, I’ll make sure I do; tell him it’s an emergency. And honestly, it is. It’s your love-life on the line and I’ve vowed to watch out for you, girl. Now, I’ve got to go. I’ll come by again when I have the results. Take care, sweetie.” She kissed her friend on the side of her fender. Within a few minutes, she was gone.  
  
When on a mission, Veronica disliked the slowness of the traffic heavily and muttered a few choice words under her breath to an especially slow laggard before her. She couldn’t wait until the bold façade of the 1st Bank loomed over the street and went to the door with tunnel vision in her eyes, brushing against someone exiting as she went. She called out a hasty apology before pulling through the doors and onto the gleaming floor, into the place decked in palms and gilt pictures frames and velvet-roped cordons; the “Financial Institution.” She took a quick perusal of the available tellers and smiled with satisfaction when she saw him. She was going to exit this place with information – one way or the other. She’d try the sweet-talking approach to him first, and then resort to something a little stronger if the need was presented.  
  
The moment her turn came and there was an opening, she drove right up to his polished desk. Some other teller had called her next, but she had no time or use for him. She halted smoothly before the limousine she now knew had kissed her best friend, brought her flowers, and atop that claimed he loved her. Giving him no time for “shop-talk,” she launched into her speech.  
  
“Hello, Mr. Silver. I’m sure you remember me, Veronica Hall? The friend of a gal named Christine Winter AKA, your girlfriend.”  
  
He smiled. “I certainly do remember you.”  
  
“I’m hard to forget. Look, I’m not here on monetary business; I’m here on personal business. Where do you live?”  
  
Although he was good at keeping composed, nonetheless he was a touch perplexed by this.  
  
“Well, over on Laredo Circle, but I –”  
  
“ _Where_ on Laredo Circle? Write it down, please, full address.” she retorted. He saw there was no way out of this so he located a pen and leaf of paper. Veronica watched him start to write out some numbers. “Put down your VIN too, just in case,” she added.  
  
His blue eyes met her brown. “Just in case of what?” he asked, even more baffled by this request. She smiled.  
  
“I want to make sure you’re plenty good for my best friend. She’s dealt with too many bohunks as it is and deserves someone better. You _seem_ plenty nice, but girls have to watch over each other.”  
  
Now understanding the reasoning for this, he scrawled out the rest of his address and passed her the paper. “Alright, I get it now,” he said, smiling. “I’m a pretty decent guy though, I promise.”  
  
She grinned. “We’ll see what happens when you answer the famous Veronica Hall Man Quiz.”  
  
“Uh-oh. I don’t know if I like the sound of that,” he told her, feigning worry.  
  
“Just answer it all honestly and you should have no problems,” she assured him sweetly. “I will compile all of my questions and will come over at some unknown Sunday to face them to you. I want my arrival to be a surprise so you have no chance to hide your collections.”  
  
“My collections…?” he inquired.  
  
“If you have them, you know what I mean.” she chuckled. “See you around.”

  
. . . .

  
Veronica drove down Laredo Circle that upcoming Sunday, her eyes scanning the addresses either on plaques or painted on the curb until she found the match to the paper the bank teller had given her.  
  
It was a modest house, white clapboard with what appeared to be a brown wood-shingle roof through the few patches where thinner snowfall had melted. It was unassuming – an everyman’s abode – which contrasted sharply with the man who lived there.  
  
The Chevy drove up the swept-clean brick pathway across the snowy front yard and without any preamble of second thoughts, knocked thrice on the door. She liked the approach of dropping in minus former notice but admittedly was apprehensive about seeing any air filters or other odd gewgaws lying about.  
  
You never truly knew about someone till you saw their house. That’s what she firmly believed.  
  
Despite her unplanned visit, Harlan presented her with his commonplace gentile smile upon greeting. She said a sweet hello and waved the paper she’d brought along with the questionnaire. He let her in minus any poorly-veiled anxiety, which she took as a good sign. Maybe there was nothing bad to see.  
  
The interior of the home was pleasant, which was an equally pleasant surprise to Veronica. It was not bare like that of one of her ex-lover’s, nor so steeped in masculinity it made her gag. It was the residence of a single man but was tidy.  
  
And there were no air filters to be seen.  
  
The two cars, one silver and the other white, convened before the welcome warmth of a brick fireplace topped with an attractive mantle. Veronica’s eyes roamed the side table. All she saw was a couple of newspapers. She looked back to her companion.  
  
“You have a nice place here. Christine would enjoy seeing it.” she hinted not so subtly.  
  
“Hers has more charm,” he said. “I don’t have a porch on the front or the back.”  
  
“Chris would spend time with you at the cul-de-sac of a dead-end street. She thinks you’re a wonderful man and you make her feel more special than anyone else she’s had relations with.” She flipped through her small stack of papers to be sure they were in order. “I’m here to make sure you _are_ wonderful.”  
  
When she looked up again their eyes met. “I’m sorry no one else has made her feel that way. She’s a delightful lady,” he commented. “I treat her the ways I see fit she deserves. It’s no hard task.” At this, he smiled.  
  
Veronica returned it. “Well, thank you for that. My best friend is someone I love to pieces but her confidence has always struggled, which is sad. If you can make her believe she’s truly special and worth more than she knows, then you aren’t just a wonderful guy but a remarkable one, too.” She waved the papers around. “Now, this will take a while, so we may as well start now.”  
  
“If I answer something wrong, what happens?” he asked.  
  
She grinned. “Chris learns that her Caddy is a cad.”  
  
“I can hardly wait,” he said with reserved humor that showed more in his eyes than in his careful tone. The Chevy laughed.  
  
She chuckled. “Okay now, first question! Do you have any aliases? Are you who you are by night or do you turn into Sammy Speeder after five and rob banks?”  
  
“That was two questions,” he pointed out.  
  
“That was asking the same thing. Don’t dawdle, Mr. Maybe-You-Aren’t-Harlan-Beaumont-After-All.”  
  
Now he was the one to chuckle. “Okay, okay. Don’t get mad at me. I don’t have any aliases or even a nickname, and I do _not_ rob banks. That would be a very bad mark on my resume.”  
  
Veronica ticked the box for “NO” she’d drawn on her paper beside the question. “Okay, good to know. Do you ‘read’ _Delightful Driver_ s?”  
  
He shook his big, glossy hood. “No, I do not.”  
  
“Have you looked at them in the past?” she pressed, relentless.  
  
He now appeared reluctant to answer. “Alright, yes. In the past. When I was younger. Before I kept any girlfriend.”  
  
She giggled at his stunted sentences.  
  
He sighed. “Did I already fail the test?”  
  
“Nooo, the next question will determine that.” Veronica jested, although he didn’t yet know that. She filled in the correct answers to the prior questions. Then she fixed him with a serious look. “This will be the take all end-all. I hope you’re ready.”  
  
“As much as I’ll ever be,” he confessed.  
  
“Okay,” she acknowledged. Her deep, brown eyes reviewed the inquiry one more time and then they met his intense, blue ones. “Mr. Beaumont, are you a virgin?”  
  
The silver car met this with the exact response the Chevy predicted. His gaze rested upon her, unwavering still. He heaved a sigh. “Alright, when are you going to tell her?”  
  
“Tell her what?” Veronica said, playing dumb.  
  
“Tell her I’m just one more Cadillac cad.”  
  
She found herself laughing at that. His even tone made it funny as if he really expected her to say such to her best friend. His expression was one of intrigue. “I take it that means tonight?” he added in question. She collected herself and then shook her gleaming hood.  
  
“No, not tonight. And really, I doubt she’d be shocked. Your roundabout answer was a ‘no,’ of course, right?”  
  
“Right you are,” he confessed. She filled in such a box on her questionnaire. “Tell you what; I won’t hold this against you. Your answer doesn’t much shock me, to be honest.” Her tone was so matter-of-fact the silver car was compelled to chuckle.  
  
“So, what is it I _do_ have to do to be written off as a cad that that lovely girl should stay far, far away from?” he inquired. She was quick to fire off the requirements for such.  
  
“Are you a drunkard, a smoker, or a user of illegal substances?”  
  
He presented her with an easy smile. “No to all three. I’m glad I’ve got that much right.” She checked the box off for this and smirked.  
  
“Not so fast, Mister Beaumont. You still need to pass a required number of other things. Remaining are three categories: Your Personal Habits; Sensibility; and Other. Let’s start with Personal Habits. You’re a clean, good-looking guy. And no, I’m not flirting with you. The minute you won over my friend I vowed to stop doing that. So, are you an egotist?”  
  
“I’d like to hope I’m not,” he admitted. “One of my coworkers at the bank is and even as a guy I can say it’s not an attractive quality.”  
  
“Let me guess: Mr. Streeter. He’s such an idiot.” Veronica groaned. “Mister Big-Shot-Employee-of-the-Month,” she added with a cynical tone. She looked back at the Cadillac. He couldn’t hide the guilty sort of grin on his shining front.  
  
“No other,” he said. “Although for fear of losing my job, I can’t really take the liberty to complain about him. He’s been there for several years. I’ve been there just past half a year.”  
  
“Lose your job?!?” she exclaimed, aghast. “You really think _I’d_ report you?? You, my best friend’s fiancé?”  
  
Now he was the one stunned. “Fiancé? I’m not that to her.”  
  
Her deep, brown eyes lingered on his, waiting for what didn’t come. The fireplace snapped and crackled. She blinked once. Twice.  
  
“You forgot a word, Harlan.”  
  
“What word?”  
  
“‘ _Yet_.’”  
  
She folded her papers and set them aside. “I only came here to give you a hard time and also to really be sure you didn’t live bizarrely like Christine’s last beau did who was definitive of a hayseed. You’re smart, you’re polite, and you don’t collect anything odd that I’ve seen of, and given I came here without notice I’d say my assumption is correct. I see how you talk about my friend and unless you’re a good actor, I think you genuinely care about her for who she is – however slow that reveal is – and not just for the pretty face she doesn’t even consider such. And I’ve seen how she is after she’s around you.” Veronica smiled. “She calls me after her rendezvous and tells me all, so if you’d done something awful I would’ve heard it long ago and would’ve found you no matter what. So, don’t try anything funny, and don’t say you aren’t ‘that to her.’ It’s not impossible. Keep doing whatever it is you’re doing to make her so happy, and for heaven’s sake, invite her over. She doesn’t care whether or not you have a porch!”  
  
When Veronica was leaving the snow had already started to fall again. From across the city, she knew Christine was likely looking out the window and glaring at the fluffy stuff. The Chevy was sorry that she had made her friend miss out on a fairer-weather date with the fabulous knight in silver armor, but given this was the only time she would “harass” him (he’d scored a perfect ‘A’ since she figured the whole virginity thing wasn’t worth censuring him for in the end), she hoped the Ford would forgive her.  
  
Meanwhile, she was glad that Harlan indeed did not have any weird collections, and by randomly dropping by she hadn’t caught him with his skirts off.  
  
Okay, so he didn’t have skirts to begin with, but…  
  
Details.  
  
The whole idea could’ve been disastrous.


	8. Chapter 8

**EIGHT  
**  
  
The more intimate brand of kiss Harlan had given Christine that one day became the unspoken change in their relationship. It was the greeting and the farewell and what lay between. Although the Ford was still staggered that the gleaming grille touching hers was capped by the famous emblem of Cadillac, this fell away with the affection in every aspect of his gesture.  
  
She too grew bolder as her own adoration grew and spent many a happy moment pressed up against his side with her fender nestled to his for whatever length their conversing ran. She felt close to pretty in his presence, and in a fashion sure to meet Veronica’s approval, took to wearing just as dash more perfume than she had in the past. Differences aside, she felt loved. Why that spur of the moment date her best friend had set her up on with the bank teller worked, she didn’t know. She _was_ certain of this though –  
  
She was glad.  
  
It wasn’t more than a week after Harlan had been “graded” and reviewed by Veronica and her test that the Cadillac took the plunge of asking the girl he was coming to so adore what he had indeed wanted to for a while now, but being respectful of Christine’s shyer nature, held off. They had spent this particular Sunday taking in a new movie (he had picked another good one, the Ford was delighted to see) and later found themselves in the small but sweet Mile High Café; the place Christine would forever associate with a cold day when she had been called “beautiful” by her companion, warming her heart so much more than she ever thought it could be.  
  
The front table was taken by a family of three but their presence was marked only by soft chatter that did nothing to interrupt what was held between Cadillac and Ford at their further place. When their drinks were brought, Christine returned to their conversation.  
  
“You know, Sundays have become my favorite day of the week.” Her smile was demure but held a brightness Harlan had come to recognize and cherish. “As soon as our day is through, I count down until the next Sunday; just like a little kid anticipating Christmas or their birthday, except the former lost its shine for me when I realized my dad wouldn’t ever show.”  
  
He smiled gently, reassuringly, in the way that always eased her. “What about your birthday?” She made a face.  
  
“Every February 20th for as far as I can remember has been cold and snowy, so… not much fun either for a little kid, being cooped up inside all day. Our Sundays –” At this inclusive term true happiness shone beyond the shyness, “–they are what I truly anticipate.”  
  
“You won’t ever be alone in that belief,” her companion replied. “Our Sundays –” At this, the pleasure in his own grin mirrored hers, “are my favorite day of the week also. I only regret that I don’t have another day off alongside that to further enjoy such a lovely girl’s company.”  
  
She blushed but quickly turned the subject around or at least tried to. Harlan saw her motive and gently redirected it back. “You _are_ a lovely girl, Christine. If I had better words I’d tell you exactly how much you’ve come to mean to me but…” He shrugged. “I’m a bank teller, not a literary great.”  
  
“I…” she began before faltering. Her grey eyes stayed upon his. “Thank you, Harlan.” Her voice was soft but hopeful.  
  
The family of three left. The bell above the front door jingled as a young truck came in after their departure. Christine’s mind flashed to Veronica and her attraction. She’d have to relay her sighting to the Chevrolet and see if it was met either by intrigue or resistance. And then he left. Like that time before the young pair was left alone in the Mile High; a rare instance in the city but not entirely impossible. They had a refill on their coffee. The waitress left. Christine added sugar to her drink.  
  
“I was wondering,” the shining Cadillac began, “and your friend gave me the added push to ask if you wouldn’t mind seeing my side of the city one day. My place isn’t as nice as yours – no porches – but I’m pretty clean, for a guy. You wouldn’t be scared off by any messes, in other words.” He smoothed over the offer with an easy laugh.  
  
She had to think only a few short moments. “I’d like that,” she told him. “I really would.” She _had_ been curious before Veronica had made her unannounced visit. Even minus that very visit, she was certain he had no “odd collections” or “body parts.”  
  
Harlan broached the subject the idea a little further. “If you’d like, you can come today. I had nothing to do that can’t be done after work after all.”  
  
There was an opportunity. She was fully tempted to take it. She answered in favor. He was sure – cliché aside – her smile really did light up the room.

  
. . . .

  
And it also lit up the house on Laredo Circle.  
  
After being censured once about the “fading carpet” by his landlord, Harlan had been forever prudent about drawing drapes over southern windows during absences or any starkly sunny time of day. Celeste had disliked it but tried to see the good in the privacy it afforded. She had pulled them open many a time though, saying what that stuffy fool didn’t know didn’t hurt him.   
  
“It’s so nice,” Christine said, returning him to the present. Sunlight streamed through the one window inevitably forgotten. It fell across the void of the room they sat in and landed straight upon her, sending the blue tones of her paint to the surface of their at-first-glance-just-black depths. He turned to face her fully. In the scrap of sunlight that washed over him, the pearlescent shimmer in his paint came alive like so much glitter. Christine had never seen anyone with so glorious a color and like so many times was rendered dazed that such a someone would pay her a minute of attention.  
  
All that the silver car could pay heed to though be her. While the rest of the room was in subdued light and shadow, in that central beam of the sun – that rare winter sun – sat a demure girl, a girl who put little confidence into the better of things said to her. A girl he was quite certain he’d fallen in love with quicker than seemed possible; quicker than any elder would deem true.  
  
He softly smiled at her. “You look like an angel, do you know that?”  
  
Her grey eyes lingered upon his. “Angels don’t look like me, Harlan. They aren’t this strange color, for one.”  
  
He laid his fender against hers. “If every angel looked the same, can you just imagine how boring the world would be? There have to be some differences in between to break it up and to make it special.” It was likely she would have countered his point but he headed it off by turning to kiss her. “You’re my angel,” he said, his blue eyes unwavering. “And you’re absolutely perfect; I’d want you looking no other way.”  
  
She had thought only things like this were said in those love stories she was a dedicated party in reading. Frank never said anything like that. Her very first lover talked little. “Lover” he was not, Veronica had contested, all he’d done was steal her virginity in much the same way her own mother’s brief union had gone except thank goodness she hadn’t become pregnant off it. There were really men though who said those things in those books?  
  
“Are you real, Harlan?” she dared at a voice scarcely above a whisper.  
  
“As real as you are,” he said. “Why, darling?”  
  
“Men don’t just say things like that to a girl. Like calling her an angel or insisting she’s not just ‘pretty’ but ‘beautiful.’ I’ve never known anyone to say those things.”  
  
“You do now,” he tried with a smile. “And I mean them, Christine. To me, you’re all that and more; a truly exceptional lady.”  
  
She wouldn’t cry (she wouldn’t, she told herself like a mantra) but she felt so much joy and so much gratitude then that she could only smile a gloriously beautiful smile that said it all. She really felt like the luckiest girl in Aurora. “Thinking” was no longer a factor in any of it.  
  
“I love you, Harlan.” She leaned in those few inches, spanning that small gap to punctuate her words with an affectionate kiss. Her stormy-colored eyes fell shut. Here was a moment she wanted to treasure; the second time in her life she’d said she’d loved a man but now realized what it meant to not just vow love but feel it. Really feel it. The ugly day when she’d lost her job seemed so long ago now when seen through the haze of what had befallen her. Yes, she had her worries still, but the security she felt in this man, the one whom she’d known only as her paycheck depositor, was greater than words. Security; being valued; she felt it all with him.  
  
“And I love you, darling,” he promised. “As long as you’ll let me, I will.”  
  
The ray of sun was shifting. Harlan’s pearlescent silver caught the hues of it and wore the golden reflection of impending sunset. Christine’s midnight color transformed again into black, wearing its deep blue only where the observant eyes would be sure to see it.  
  
“I think I might let you forever.”  
  
Cliché? Reminiscent of words in lifeless print in those love stories she adored? Yes to both, but Christine didn’t much care then. Aside from meeting Veronica and forging that friendship with her, this was the next best moment of her life yet.  
  
They had signed up for more than they’d initially planned, more than Christine thought by simply seeing her courter’s rented home on Laredo Circle; more than he had thought by inviting her. Harlan was a doubtless gentleman despite his youth and treated her to more than that first man she’d known had; more than Frank had. They talked before the lit fireplace of the past, the present, and even flirted slightly with the future. Christine found it easier to talk of more in a different setting than the very home her past relationships had partly taken place in. Here was somewhere different and the fact she knew his recently lost girlfriend had spent plenty of time here didn’t even make an impression. Her own past was more powerful in her mind than this.  
  
But, what a wonderful piece of company he was, and he didn’t even try to ply her with a drink. Frank had strived to get her drunk with his assortment of liquors and she had been left so ashamed by letting him that she had never let this truth pass her lips for Veronica to hear. Had she known, Christine had no doubts Veronica would drive all the way to that farmhouse and accuse him of taking advantage of her and even threaten him in some way or another. In 1940s America, Veronica Hall was a rare woman with strong ideas of her own.  
  
The love she felt now for the silver limousine wasn’t influenced by drink. It was as it was and wouldn’t ever go backward into irresoluteness. The fire died down but a few prods sent it blazing back to life again with another log for the flames’ company. A peaceful lull had fallen. She turned to face him.  
  
“Harlan,” she softly said, calling his attention her way. The fire danced in a reflection in her chrome touches. It added depth to her eyes. It gilded her smile. “Please claim me as your girl in the way others have done to me but meant nothing beyond the surface. With you, it’ll matter. With you, it’ll feel… special.”

  
. .

  
It was only one lamp and its light.  
  
A light that threw a soft, muted glow upon what it touched all around the room. One light in one room in a town of hundreds of the same where so much of the same took place at that moment, some in acts of love and some in acts of disinterest but hard hoping the mind could be convinced it would be different than it really was.  
  
The very same place Christine was at in the recent past herself.  
  
The plainer affectionate notes of the hello and goodbye kisses gave way gracefully to a deeper, passionate variation that night when the sun winked out over Colorado. It was the type of warmth Christine had never felt and again thought only dwelled in stories. She couldn’t really be blamed for thinking this, having a mother who couldn’t set a better example for her girl although it wasn’t for lack of wanting. Ingrid hadn’t wanted to give her sole child so little.  
  
But in this one single room, hopefulness soared. The “impossible” was possible. She _was_ the luckiest girl in Aurora. She felt like she’d be happy forever within four walls’ confines when accompanied by him.  
  
After a score of these delights had come and were shared Christine was plenty willing for him to “claim her as his girl” as she had voiced before the fire. In a typical gentleman’s fashion, Harlan was patient and respectful and pursued nothing more than those deeply adoring current exchanges until Christine gave her own permission, the way she had in the past to Frank, and _him_ , the lover who hadn’t even been that.  
  
Harlan was a larger car than she in length and weight but when it came to his mounting her, thought and consideration lay in every aspect of the action. Unlike Frank; unlike _him,_ Christine realized that evening in another part of Aurora what set apart an act of love and a plain act of sex. This night it was the former. When their coupling – a beautiful example of it – was over, the midnight-blue Ford, lying now the whole of her body against the Cadillac’s, was reduced to tears. Tears fell across her polished-out paint and drifted down onto the silver car as well.  
  
“I never knew it could be like that,” she murmured, her voice a whisper. “I wish all of this could last forever.”  
  
Harlan tenderly nuzzled her fender with the side of his own. Unlike other men, he saw the recently passed action as something different. He had seen it with Celeste and now even clearer with this remarkable girl. Although a more official decree to make it so was what he hoped for most he could at least say now that, so long as she was willing for it, she was a companion and a mate. Don’t put the trailer before the truck. Be grateful for the first allowance.  
  
He turned slightly to kiss her. “You mean it can’t?” he asked, gently joking.  
  
“Not forever,” she murmured and added at an even more hushed voice. “Unless you’d think I’m alright enough to marry.” _And going by how things have been for my mom and what I’ve known so far, I don’t think it’ll ever happen,_ she added in her mind.  
  
The silver Cadillac softly smiled. “You might give me an idea or two…” he mused, looking over at her but her eyes had drifted shut. That didn’t shock him. The hour was late and although he was sure he could’ve gazed upon her for a fair time more, he did have to return to work the next day. An employee hired for less than a year didn’t dare irresponsibility unless he had a firing wish.  
  
He told her he loved her.  
  
One lamp in one room in a city filled with hundreds of the same situations was doused. Darkness swooped in over the pair. Although this all had been unplanned, from where their date had started to where it had ended, it had been perfect in a world that said that attainability never truly existed. It did here and now.  
  
 _It can’t go on forever… unless you’d marry me_ , she had said.  
  
As the silver car committed himself to sleep he thought of the near future. He had lost one chance. He hoped he wouldn’t lose another.

  
. . . .

  
Christine’s wonderfully restful sleep that night was a review of all the recent events though, as she drifted to wakefulness, she feared it had all been a dream, to begin with. One grey eye opened. This was positively not her room. The other eye opened and took in the long, silver frame she realized anew she had lain against on night. A night like this had happened with Frank in that near past but she hadn’t awoken with nearly this level of relief and happiness. A smile curved her bumper. She gave the Cadillac an ardent nuzzle.  
  
“Good morning, handsome,” she murmured.  
  
Harlan had wakened a few minutes before but hadn’t made any move to disturb her. Instead, he had just closed his eyes again, not to sleep but to simply focus solely on her, the sweet girl alongside him he felt so glad to have gone out with on that simple “blind date.” He adored her and now couldn’t imagine being without her. His blue gaze reflected this and more as he looked over at her.  
  
“And good morning to you, lovely lady.” he returned. “I hope you slept okay.”  
  
Her smile broadened. “Better than ever.” And then fell a pause. “Thank you for making me feel like I’m special, Harlan.”  
  
He leaned her way to softly nuzzle her. More than ever he wished he had one more day-off to spend with her. If only. “You _are_ special, Christine. I mean everything I tell you,” he reassured. “I won't lie to you.”  
  
“Thank you,” she said and initiated a kiss first. If words failed to say what she felt in her heart, at least this action never failed. He returned the loving gesture to her with a deeply caring undercurrent she couldn’t deny. All that had happened _wasn’t_ a dream… it was real. With that knowledge in mind, she truly savored every second of this moment. Her soft grey eyes met his when they’d parted.  
  
“Last night,” she began, “I was bolder than I usually am – with what I asked – but… I don’t regret it. It’s never been that way for me in the past; the whole intimacy. I didn’t think that honest-to-goodness love could be felt in every aspect of it all. Thank you for that, too, Harlan.”  
  
He slowly straightened to his average height after sinking low on his shocks during sleep. Still, he kept his fender to hers and allowed her repose on his flank. “You don’t need to thank me for any of that, but you’re welcome anyway, darling. As long as you don’t grow weary of me, I’ll happily treat you to more of the same.” At this, he smiled.  
  
Her own smile turned a little sad but accepting. “If only it could be forever…” She pushed off his side and sighed. “It’s a new day,” she went on, changing the subject. “You have to go to work; I need to get home.”  
  
She was gently restrained by a nudge from her companion. She looked back at him. Dawn light began to spill through the edges of the drapes to softly highlight the Cadillac’s stately profile and stance that seemed even regal upon his again having a girl to love.  
  
“If you don’t want to go this morning, you don’t have to, Christine. If you don’t want to go until this afternoon, that’s fine too. I trust you here. If you wanted to leave but come again later, you can. It’s one other way to see each other more often until I ever get two days off.” He tried the easiest tactic short of outright begging. “You have no idea how much I miss you till our next Sunday.”  
  
Something about this last offer made her happier smile come back and a little laugh with it. “Does it possibly match with how much _I_ miss _you_ , Harlan?”  
  
“More,” he assured. “A lot more.”  
  
She gave him a playful shove. “I don’t think so. I think I miss you far more. If you knew how many times in a week the words ‘Harlan Beaumont’ went through my mind, you’d think I’m crazy.”  
  
“Not crazy.” he corrected. “Sweet. But, I don’t know… unless I start keeping a tally, I have to say the lovely words ‘Christine Winter’ runs several times an hour for this guy. And each time never fails to bring joy.”  
  
She blushed. Her effort at a glare was something, in particular, he knew he’d cherish to look back on. She looked so lovable. “Harlan,” she said, trying to keep her voice serious. “I’m very tempted to call you a rascal even though that’s more of a term my grandparents would use.”  
  
He casually shrugged. “I’ll accept it. I’m not a picky guy.”  
  
“Which surprises me, given…” she trailed off, indecisive of continuing. He looked at her, waiting.  
  
“Given what, honey?”  
  
“Given… other guys I’ve known. None of them would’ve liked being called ‘pretty’ or a ‘rascal.’ It just wasn’t their way. One of them would’ve got mad and left and the other would’ve clammed up and just glare. I’m still wondering if you’re real.”  
  
All he could feel for her was love and commiseration. How could someone _not_ want to treat her their best? He inwardly sighed and pressed his fender to her, consoling and reassuring. “I’m real, Christine. In every way. What you see is what you get. I promise. And I’m not going to be that way to you.”  
  
She quietly listened to him. Those words were ones she’d wished Frank would say but he never had. Her gratitude wasn’t broached with words. She leaned back into his side with emotions no less than trusting. “I won’t keep saying ‘thank you’ but I’ll try something that says it better; I love you, Harlan. So much.”

  
. . . .

  
As it would go, Christine stayed until the Cadillac had to go to work, and then she left with him to return home. Outside, the sky was grey. As grey as the Ford’s eyes. Warmth dwelled in them though; the sky was nothing but gunmetal-cold. They sat together, wordlessly, for a few moments, looking upon their city. Christine spoke first.  
  
“Well, I guess I can’t keep you any longer today. I’d hate to get you in trouble for being late, after all.” She smiled. “I had a wonderful time with you. You’re very sweet and very handsome. Don’t let any other girl steal you from me. Please.”  
  
“I won’t, I promise,” he said. “And thank you – for the compliment and for being my girl.”  
  
“It makes me very happy to be yours.”  
  
The young pair shared a last kiss. When he backed up slightly from her, the Cadillac looked upon her for a few seconds which felt to him like an age as he committed her every feature to memory.  
  
A wayward, fluffy snowflake drifted down from the grey sky – greyer than her eyes, for sure – and landed softly on her dark hood.


	9. Chapter 9

**NINE**

  
Veronica found the news of her best friend’s date with the stunning silver Cadillac so extraordinary that she insisted she had to come over right that minute to hear it in person and Christine, please literally hold the phone. The Ford sat there for several seconds after her friend’s excited hang-up and couldn’t help but laugh to herself. She couldn’t imagine life without crazy, wonderful Veronica to lighten it up.  
  
The white Chevy arrived around twenty minutes later. From the moment she pulled into her friend’s home, her lovely coffee-colored eyes were fixated upon the Ford. Her curiosity was of a burning strength. It likely took her a heaping of patience to wait for the coffee to finish percolating and the cups to be filled and passed over. She took a sip and agonized over Christine’s small kitchen cleanup before she parked beside her friend. Then she could stand it no longer.  
  
“Chris, spill the beans! I’m a jumpy as a little kid on Christmas.”  
  
“Veronica, seriously?” the darker car demured. The Chevy groaned.  
  
“Yes I am! We’re talking about the most amazing occurrence in your love-life yet and I’m not going to sit here ignorant and uncaring. I need to know what happened when you went to that dashing man’s humble abode.”  
  
Christine set her cup aside. “What do _you_ think, Wise and All-Knowing Mistress Hall?”  
  
“Oh, cut it out!” Veronica exclaimed, and then her expression turned thoughtful. “‘ _Mistress Hall_ ’… hmmm. I’m going to have the long-bed, handsome machine of my dreams call me that. Thanks for the idea, sweetie!”  
  
The Ford giggled. “Sure, Ronnie.”  
  
“Now, about your date!” Veronica went on. “I’m sure you can agree there no other words for those outings now.”  
  
All Christine had to think of were those true-hearted things the Cadillac had said to her, the always ardent ways he kissed her, and ultimately, the coupling that made each the others mate for the whole of a night. No, there were no other words for “those outings.”  
  
Her peacefully happy smile spoke volumes. “He’s just such a delightful and sweet guy. I could’ve spent another whole day and night with him.”  
  
Veronica sipped her coffee. Her intrigued eyes never wavered from her friend. “I’ve _never_ , and I do mean never, seen you so happy yet, Chris.” She grinned mischievously. “Maybe you’re pregnant. That creates a lil _glow_ for the lady, I hear.”  
  
Whether it was Christine’s eyes that went wider first or her jaw to drop was never determined. “VERONICA!” she shrieked. “Don’t scare me like that!!! What an awful thought!!”  
  
The Chevy couldn’t stop laughing once she’d started. “You hate kids so much!! It cracks me up!!” she managed when she’d caught her breath. “An ‘awful’ thought?? What an insult to poor Mr. Beaumont!”  
  
“Explain,” Christine sniffed, faintly cross. Veronica was only too happy to do so.  
  
“Open your eyes, sweetie. I know he’s your man now and I won’t encroach where I don’t belong, but he is absolutely gorgeous and has a thrillingly masculine body that says one thing: he’s a stud.”  
  
“That wasn’t encroaching?” Christine teased.  
  
“Alright, alright, I’m sorry. But hear me out; a man with that physique, with that downright beautiful paint job, and chrome to make a Duesy envious has the makings to have a kid that’s far, _far_ from ‘awful.’ If you will let me be candid for a few seconds, were I a woman who had that particular mentality to do ‘something’ and run, I’d choose Mister Harlan Beaumont to get me pregnant.”  
  
There was absolutely no stopping this blush from pouring its way across Christine’s features. She was used to her friend’s bluntness (to a fashion) but this was something to defy words. As happened many times though with the Chevrolet’s ways, it could only get a dash worse.  
  
“Anyhow, speaking of that subject – and yes, I will stop encroaching on him – how’s the sex? Remember what I warned you about. You have to do it at least once with a guy to be sure he’s not going to be an A+ flop when love leads to marriage. If Harlan’s a flop, write him off now. You don’t need that disappointment in your life.”  
  
Christine couldn’t even think about answering this until she took a deep breath. Veronica grinned. “Is he better than Frank Farmall? He sure oughta be. I’ve placed a bet that he is.” she prodded.  
  
“Veronica, you just never, ever stop.” the dark blue car groaned. “I don’t ask you about the private details of your life.”  
  
“Oh, you don’t need to, sweetie. I’ve always gladly volunteered them so you know who to stay away from. So. Is Harlan a throwaway or a keeper? You don’t want to talk about the other right now, that’s all I need to know to make my judgment.”  
  
“He’s a keeper,” Christine relented. A rather naughty spark lit up Veronica’s brown eyes which was no shock to her best friend. The Chevy finished her coffee and pushed the cup to the side of the table.  
  
“A keeper. My mind is a whirl, girl. I hope you elaborate on this. So, you’d call him a stud? I mean, does he act like one, look like one, feel –”  
  
“I don’t know! Maybe, yes.” Christine interjected, so flustered by Veronica’s boldness that she wanted to say anything to curb the unsaid.  
  
“You know the difference between big and small, sweetie, so I know _you_ know what you got. I envy you. Here you are with a first-rate stud-muffin and I’m going to sit till my tires go flat waiting for my good looking piece of shiny metal. _Que sera sera_. What matters to me is that your love-life has turned around for the better.”  
  
A few minutes later Christine had refilled her friend’s cup and her own. The fire was stoked and a pleasant heat warded away November’s chill from seeping through the windows and door. Christine reflected on that day she’d spent with him, loving her friend’s company but wishing she was there on Laredo Circle all the same. Absence made the heart grow fonder.  
  
“He practically begged me to stay and I think he would’ve let me until he got home from work if I knew how to occupy myself all those hours. He says he misses me between Sundays.”  
  
“Aww, that’s sweet. He should. You’re a girl worth knowing, Chris. I’m glad he has his eyes open and looks ahead instead of in his mirrors all the time like a backward-minded guy. I’m glad you’re just as happy with him too, because going by what you tell me, he ain’t cutting loose of you anytime soon. You _are_ his girl and practically his mate, too. But this reminds me of something very important that you’ll have the answer to.”  
  
Christine asked what.  
  
“Why was it again that he and his ex-girlfriend split ways?” Veronica inquired. The Ford thought back to the woman she had never known who had also been won over by the ways of the Cadillac who now kept company with her.  
  
“Well, I don’t really ask the personals of it since it isn’t my business, but what I understood was that she wanted to move away from the whole state and she also wanted children. If not Aurora, he likes Colorado and he’s not too interested in kids.”  
  
“Hmmm,” the other car considered, nodding. “Well, when it comes to the whole kid racket, you and he are perfect together. Peas in a pod. A pity, too. That man would have stellar looking kids that’d grow up to be individuals the world would swoon over.” She sighed. “The ugly ones always populate and the good-looking put the brakes on, for good. It just isn’t fair.”  
  
Christine rolled her eyes. “How about you and your love-life? Did you ever track down that truck I told you about a week or so ago?”  
  
“Oh sure, Chris. With all of the hundreds of trucks in Aurora, he was easy-peasy to find.” the Chevy said with a chuckle. “No, I’ve not seen your description of him anywhere. I don’t even have a license plate number to go by!! Couldn’t you at least have written that down for me so I know who to find?!?”  
  
“Ronnie! I was sitting right there with Harlan. If I looked at another guy and wrote down his license plate number, I feel he’d be just a little offended.”  
  
“Criminy, girl. He’s a fool if he thinks you’d leave him and his gorgeous chassis for a truck. Just tell him your best friend thinks trucks are the hottest things this side of the Rockies and he’ll never worry again. You have to help me get hitched. He’ll sympathize and may even start recommending customers of the 1st Bank to investigate Mistress Hall if you prod him a little.”  
  
Christine snickered. “You better not go around calling yourself that, Veronica. It sounds a little… well…”  
  
“Like a gal of ill-repute. I got it. I’ll only have my squeeze call me that. Right now though, my love-life is nowhere. One more question I want you to answer now, honestly.”  
  
“I don’t know if I can but I’ll try.”  
  
The Chevy set her drink aside and placed her attention solely upon the Ford. “Christine, with what I understand, that man has been as sweet as syrup to you and with a decent heart. He’s said you’re not pretty, but beautiful. I can only agree with him. With that polished paint and your inner joy, you’re lovely. Do you _feel_ beautiful now?”  
  
The darker car couldn’t answer this quickly. For a few moments, she sat there, thinking. Veronica was patient and didn’t push her. Christine could surely lie and say “yes,” but that wouldn’t explain everything.  
  
“Well, when I’m here at home I still feel like a plain-Jane, but…”  
  
“When you’re with him, you feel beautiful?” Veronica offered. Christine nodded.  
  
“I guess that sums it up. I don’t think as much now of me just being a Ford and him being not just a Cadillac but one that could be a show-car. For those moments together, I really _do_ feel beautiful.”  
  
Veronica’s spunkier expression turned softer; turned to the gently warm expression that showed understanding without a single word, making her a lovely friend for that feature alone to a girl like Christine.  
  
“It’s the special guys that can do that, sweetie. They’re rare but not impossible to find.” She smiled. “After all, you got one.”

  
. . . .

  
In a spur-of-the-moment move, forged out of a fond heart, Christine drove all the way over to the house on Laredo Circle in time to be waiting there as a surprise to Harlan. She hadn’t acted on a whim like this in longer than she could name and was a touch nervous - aside from feeling the essence of fun. It wasn’t even five minutes after her arrival that she suddenly feared this was truly a bad idea and nearly left. What if he wouldn’t come directly home after work? She’d not be able to wait before his residence forever.  
  
Quietly she passed the time, watching the comings and goings on Laredo Circle as others returned from their jobs. She yearned for the warmth of a fire. A bitter wind had picked up and blew errant ice crystals from roadside drifts upon her. She shivered but didn’t let her eyes waver from the end of the street where they sought a familiar.  
  
When the silver Cadillac (looking just plain grey over anything on this overcast day) turned onto the street, she nearly leaped in the same fashion her heart did to greet him. As he came nearer and placed who she was, his workaday weariness was replaced with a smile to shame that of Mr. Streeter, had Veronica given her opinion on the matter. A broad grin had crossed Christine’s countenance as well. He drew to a halt before her roadside park and greeted her with a loving kiss.  
  
“You’re the most beautiful thing I could’ve hoped to see today,” he told her. A flicker of how touched she was by this crossed her eyes.  
  
“That’s a creative thing to say, Harlan.” she brushed it off, still doubtful of being worthy of such lovely words.  
  
“I mean it, darling.” he gently assured her. “You’re a lovely sight.”  
  
Shyness entered her smile and her voice. “Thank you, truly.”  
  
“Anything for my girl,” he promised before ushering her out of the cold to linger before the start of a fire she had so longed for.  
  
With the day being cloudy and of weaker sun, the Cadillac threw caution to the wind and left the majority of the drapes and blinds open, permitting Christine to see the home in a literally better light As Harlan tended to his own after work duties, she relaxed in the fire’s warmth and let her eyes peruse the room. Here was a framed image of whom she assumed to be her courter’s mother. She was sure her heart came close to melting when her eyes landed upon a portrait of a short and squat little silver car beside the earlier female, now surely the mother. No, she wasn’t fond of children, but she was certain of this tot’s identity.  
  
As if summoned, when she looked to her left the Cadillac was pulling up beside her. “Enjoying yourself?” he asked, smiling.  
  
“I am,” she said, and then motioned to the baby picture. “Is that you?”  
  
He chuckled. “Yes, ma'am. That is my mom and me.” Her eyes returned to that short, even tubby little tyke before going back to the genuinely striking adult he’d turned into; one big yet with graceful lines that enhanced his attractive length and carriage.  
  
“Cute little guy,” she mused and met his blue eyes with her grey. “No cute got left behind, Harlan. You’re just all handsome now.” It was a bold flirt (for her milder standards), but as Veronica would say, he deserved it wholly. And she was convinced of this as well, even without her best friend laying down the line all the time.  
  
Her gently teasing compliment was accepted with gratitude shown by a nuzzle on her fender with his own. She permitted herself to lay up against his side, a happy victim felled by his touch, and like every other time these exchanges had come, realized being in his company was the most gladsome she’d ever been with a man. With the first one she’d one, and with Frank, it hadn’t come close to feeling like this. Not that she could (or would’ve) complained. That wouldn’t have crossed her mind, likely. She didn’t see herself gaining a genuine gentleman like this one who said she was really beautiful without a hint of malice or cruel joking in his gaze.  
  
For Harlan, coming home from another day of work to see her waiting there before the clouds let loose their snow; it practically stripped him of his careful, measured attitude, meaning he very nearly raced up to her like any other young fellow his age would upon seeing his girl. But she was a shyer sort he had no want to be so bold with.  
  
His want for a permanent companion couldn’t be denied though and the lost opportunity that went with Celeste’s farewell seemed to present itself anew with the Ford he’d fallen fully in love with. He dreaded the departure from one another at a date’s end. He knew he’d also dread when this visit came to its inevitable close and she would go home across town. He’d lost one girlfriend he had cared deeply about already and no intentions of losing one more.  
  
Thinking of this, he pressed the weight of his frame back against her, to love upon her and to assure himself that she was there now, and with all hopes realized, would be in the future.  
  
Their talk covered many subjects, from present-day to when they’d been little kids, although Christine wasn’t as open on this as her companion, seeing there wasn’t much to talk about. She tried to turn the subject back to him many times, though he wasn’t willing to let that happen. He was plenty polite about it, but no matter, he was clearly different than Frank in many ways. Every time they were together, Christine grew to love him more and more, and not only because he saw her with different eyes than most of the world seemed to.  
  
She couldn’t ever imagine an opportunity coming for her to call herself married, but with the Cadillac, she daydreamed like any young lady would, pondering what a true, happy union could be like to someone of his merit.  
  
It was a rewarding thought.  
  
When a long span of silence fell, she closed her eyes as she lay upon his side. She couldn’t help but regale in that dream again.


	10. Chapter 10

**TEN  
DECEMBER 1940**  
  
It was the biggest decision Harlan had made yet; bigger than sitting for the job interview for the elite 1st Bank, bigger than seeking and renting his residence on Laredo Circle. Bigger than all of that but the one decision he felt the surest of when summed up. In youthful certainty, he was positive of it from that one particular moment but had still hesitated on finality. Now he felt there wasn’t much more time to dally.  
  
Past Employee-of-the-Month, Streeter, knew something was up. Although his coworker did his work as efficient as always, his mind seemed to be on something else in between customers. The rapport between the two was nothing to speak of but the Mercedes still prodded in the break room. He attacked the matter, strong coffee (black) as added momentum to rely upon. Harlan wasn’t amused to be spending his break with the man but was true to some inborn level of politeness.  
  
Streeter set his drink aside and grinned in that self-important way he had at the Cadillac. “So, Beaumont, what’s going on with you?”  
  
“Everything’s status quo,” Harlan said, vague. Streeter chuckled.  
  
“Status quo is what it’s called now when your mind is all wrapped up on a girl? Especially when said girl is a customer you’re courting?”  
  
The Mercedes had started the joke long before about a 1st Bank employee falling in love with a patron and naturally, he really delighted in it when the “new guy” did just that. It was great break-room conversation fodder. More than Harlan knew. It helped, of course, that he was among the younger in the rank also. Even in the elite Financial Institution, these jests were good initiations to a newbie.  
  
The Cadillac shrugged. “Alright, I do think about her a lot. Can’t deny it, and wouldn’t want to either.”  
  
Streeter took a sip of his coffee. “All I can say is that she really must be something. You sometimes look like you’ve never had a girl in your whole life yet, and I doubt you’re that cloistered. Maybe it’s just the holiday season tripping you up too. Say, what’re you getting the girl for Christmas? Better start thinking now, Beaumont.”  
  
The younger of the two refilled his own coffee and rejoined his uninvited guest. “I’ve made my decision,” he said, stirring his drink. “The next time I see her – this upcoming Sunday – I’m going to ask her to marry me.”  
  
Streeter started to pick up his mug and then set his down again. “Ah, no wonder you’ve been so unfocused. I wasn’t aware things like that were between you two. You’ve really not been together that long that I knew of.”  
  
“We met in late October.”  
  
“October. That’s a pretty big decision to make so soon. Girls can really mess up the heart sometimes and turn it topsy-turvy. Hope you aren’t making a mistake, Beaumont.”  
  
Harlan was courteous to a fault but this very small (yet still true) slight against his girl wasn’t received without a firmer answer. His blue eyes leveled upon the Mercedes irises of green. “It’s no mistake.” he quietly countered. “And I do genuinely love her.”  
  
Streeter drained his mug. “Well,” he said, shrugging, “can’t argue with that. Hope she says yes, and congratulations in advance. You’ll be glad to not be a bachelor anymore, I figure.”  
  
The Cadillac slowly smiled. “I hope she does too, and thank you. I’ve been a bachelor as long as I want to be.”

  
. . . .

  
He did his best possible work while thinking of Sunday – creeping ever closer – in his every down moment. Harlan considered himself a fairly unflappable individual, but the real possibility the second girl he’d fallen in love with would say no to his hopeful question was enough to stir up worries.  
  
Worries of every sort, really. Unlike Streeter’s thoughts, the Cadillac had no questions of whether Christine Winter was really and truly the one. He loved her dearly no matter her scrambled past or shy nature lending a rather low sense of worth. He just adored her more for it, in all honesty.   
  
When Sunday arrived he faced the icy streets, laid down the money, and got a touch-up polishing to his flawless, glimmering paint. He’d take no chance in looking remotely shabby for this and consequently waited till a sudden snow flurry tapered off before driving the remaining way across town.  
  
Aurora was beautifully festive during the Christmas season when the snow really seemed to enliven things rather than just cause annoyance. Shop after shop had gay decorations in their casement windows. Poinsettias added a dash of living color to an iced-over land where the pines and cypress were the natural crowning glories. Wreaths hung upon doors. Velveteen bows were tied around the cast-iron gas lamps. Numerous children tried to tug their mother aside to look for just a moment longer at a coveted goody in a store display. How many of these moms were sold on spending their dollars on these things wouldn’t be known till the morning of the 25th.  
  
Harlan may have had little parental desire of his own but seeing these little kids couldn’t help but make him see himself at that age again, back when he’d begged his mother (his parents residing now deep in the heart of Denver) for something nowadays that he could not remember. Another time he had sought something to give his sister, Emma, when he’d picked on her a little too much in the weeks leading up to the holiday.  
  
Why is it that brothers so often liked this teasing to their sisters? At least he could say, for a fact, he’d outgrown it. Long ago.

  
. . . .

  
Christine’s storm-grey eyes lit up as if from a sunburst after rain when she saw the Cadillac. Only the simplest of greetings were swapped before she drew him near for a long and loving kiss. In the living room, the clock struck three with a musical chime. “Oh, Harlan, I’ve missed you so much.” she softly said. “Seeing you today was just what I needed.”  
  
He perceived some deeper meaning to her words. “What’s wrong, darling?” he gently asked.  
  
She told him there in the hallway of how her day had gone when she’d went out just briefly she saw her old employers, the Evans’, and how she hadn’t gone unnoticed. Bart had seen her and his jeering brought her grille-to-grille with Camilla, who had relayed in a snide tone of how much more “adjusted” her precious sons were now that she had ceased being there to “wrongfully punish” them.  
  
Relaying the startling encounter again brought tears to Christine’s eyes. One blink sent them rolling down the sides of her deep, blue-black hood. Seeing the girl he dearly loved so upset struck a chord with the Cadillac and he lay his fender against hers, a reassuring touch that shifted to a nuzzle. Gratefully, she pressed against his frame.  
  
“You never did anything wrong.” he consoled. “You defended yourself against a spoiled, rude child from a wealthy and rude family.”  
  
She closed her eyes. “But it still made me lose a job I needed, and I can’t depend on Veronica forever – I don’t want to! I just don’t know where to start. I don’t know what to do. I guess I never was much won by Christmas anyway, but I truly can’t see any joy now.”  
  
He continued to nuzzle her lovingly. “I’m sorry,” he told her. “I hope in some way I can turn some of that around for you.”  
  
Her eyes opened, a grey storm captured forever. “You already turned my day around, Harlan.” She blinked away the rest of her tears. “And even when you aren’t here, I still know you. That’s comfort all on its own. I’m glad Veronica put us on that ‘blind date.’”  
  
The silver Cadillac turned to kiss his beloved Ford. “Me too.”  
  
When the sun sank lower and the lamps turned on throughout Aurora, Harlan asked Christine if she wouldn’t mind going for just a casual drive to look at the gaily bedecked shop windows and the velvet ribbon trim festooning those very lamps, trees, and even a few cars who liked to sport the season upon themselves. After a boldly bowtied coupe rolled past (he even had a sprig of holly on his hood ornament!) Harlan turned to his companion.  
  
“Watch – I’ll do something like that one day, too.”  
  
She laughed. The troubles of her day faded in his presence. She told him that would indeed look rather fine. If everything could continue feeling this way, she figured maybe Christmas wouldn’t be entirely awful, as she’d feared.  
  
They stopped at Town Center where a cheerfully decked pine lorded over the streets. Numerous children took turns chasing each other in dizzying donuts around its wide base of branches. Some parents looked on, others chatted with friends and strangers. It was all like a perfect scene cut from a painting, one that Christine had seen play out for many Christmas’ past. She was truly taken by the simple magic of the tinsel, colored glass, and stars – not upon the tree, but showing now in the sky where the clouds failed to blow. She smiled.  
  
Harlan let her have this solo moment before drawing up alongside her. The shining lights now glowing from the tree danced to-and-fro in the reflection across her now-just black paint. Reds and greens and yellows. Her chrome sparkled. So, too, did her eyes. He brushed up against her fender with his own. She looked at him.  
  
“This is the most brilliant gift I could have for Christmas,” she said, those stormy eyes shining. “Even if it is early.”  
  
“You don’t think this could be topped?” he inquired, teasing, but inwardly truthful. She laughed.  
  
“I can’t really think of what would, Harlan. I’m seeing this clearer than I ever have, and you’re here with me. It’s the best ending to a day that began awful.” She leaned to cozy up against his long frame. “Nothing could make it better.”  
  
They watched the spectacle of the tree, the clearing night, and the merriment of those who called Aurora home. Christine didn’t even mind the squeals of children that night and for a moment watched them with the eyes of a child herself, wishing, even if she were teased, she could be a tyke again and be there amidst their joy.  
  
They sat there for close to an hour before the Colorado winter chill became too intense. Only then did both unanimously agree to start the slow drive back home, eager for the defrosting warmth of the woodstove that was only at a sputter of heat when the two drove in. A quick poking and another log sent the flames high. When she was satisfied it’d hold, Christine turned to the sparkling Cadillac. She smiled tenderly, saying not a word, and leaned in to kiss him. She didn’t want this day to end, hoping to prolong it as much as possible.  
  
“How long can you stay?” she softly asked, aware of the time easing further and further past seven o’clock every second. He returned an equally loving smile.  
  
“As long as you’d like,” he said.  
  
“But, your job…” she needlessly pointed out.  
  
“I’ll be fine.”  
  
“You’re sure? I don’t want to get you in trouble.”  
  
“I’m sure, and you’ll never be responsible for that,” he promised.

  
. . . .

  
The deeper variety of kisses to never be confused with a simple greeting Christine permitted to take place in her small bedroom, willing the Cadillac’s presence to take over what Frank had left behind here a time before. When those shared affections led to the equally loving coupling, the Ford happily gave herself over to it. Just like the first time they’d done it, this time too didn’t fail to bring the same emotions to the surface.

  
The shy Ford was the one thing Harlan didn’t want to miss his chance on in life and although those moments of intimacy bound them for a day, he desired it to last much longer. When he’d finished mating her she leaned against his side where he’d moved near hers. He tenderly nuzzled her.  
  
“How would you like to be my closest and dearest companion more than once a week?” he asked.  
  
She sighed. “That would be wonderful, a dream.”  
  
Softly, he nuzzled her fender with his, her paint as smooth as silk across her soft curves. How he loved her. “Will you marry me, darling?” he asked.  
  
She blinked in rapid succession, but not enough to ward off the sting of tears. These weren’t words her mother had heard; ones she never believed she’d hear either. “Don’t fool me like that, Harlan,” she said, scarcely above a whisper.  
  
He leaned his longer frame gently against hers, a touch reassuring. “I’m not fooling you, honey. I truly love you and hope to have you for my mate; a girl I can come home to every day.” He smiled once more. “I’ve had my fill of being a bachelor.”  
  
He meant it. He actually meant it.  
  
She heard what she – Wishy-washy Chrissy – felt she never would. The love in her heart for the limousine was immense. She snuggled closer to him. Tears of joy blurred her vision as she met his blue eyes.  
  
“Say it again. I… I want to hear it one more time.” she begged.  
  
He nuzzled her midnight-blue fender with his shimmering silver. “Will you marry me, darling?”  
  
The tears rolled down her hood. "Yes."

  
. . . .

  
Veronica would be stunned to know this recent news but Christine managed to keep it a secret, over the phone at least. At the next best day, she drove over to her friend’s place, and, excited at this unprecedented company, the white Chevrolet urged her in, brightly smiling.  
  
They took respite in the living room. Veronica casually pushed some holiday decorations aside on the small table to allow room for their coffee. Light chit-chat was shared – for awhile.  
  
“Okay, you came here for more than just some fluffy talk on my seasonal ‘deck the halls’ rigmarole.” Veronica led in. “My sixth-sense says something great is waiting to be heard. What’s the news, Chris?”  
  
The Ford smiled. “Why don’t you guess, Ronnie?”  
  
“Okay, sure.” she accepted. “I _was_ right earlier and the delightfully becoming joy new to you is because you _are_ expecting a baby.”  
  
“When cars fly!”  
  
“You told me to guess!” Veronica laughed. “Alright! Hold on, I’ve got it. That handsome man of yours did something wonderful?”  
  
Christine’s soft smile returned. “Yes, but what was _said_ really made it special.” She paused, correcting herself. “ _More_ special.”  
  
Veronica sipped her coffee. Her trademark, lively smile blossomed. “Whatever it is, I want to hear it from _you_ , sweetie. I don’t want to hear myself quoting the potential remark.”  
  
Christine set her drink aside and gently nudged her best friend. Brown and grey eyes met. The Chevrolet patiently waited, her smile there, ready. “Veronica,” she said, happiness as much in her tone as in her eyes, “he asked me to marry him.”  
  
“And you said yes?” Veronica instantly rejoined.  
  
“Yes, I did.”  
  
“Oh my gosh, Christine!” her friend exclaimed. “I was so hoping that would be the news one day! You lucky, lucky, _lucky_ gal!! Congratulations!” She brushed a kiss on the Ford’s dark fender.  
  
Christine blushed. “Aww, thank you for the wish, Ronnie. I was so excited to tell you.”  
  
Her friend beamed. “You’ve come a long way from being picked on by those brats, their rich mom, and their dastardly dad. Let me get a good look at you, sweetie.” She turned to look over her, and her smile broadened. “A lovely image you strike, Mrs. Beaumont.”  
  
The flush of happiness (yet also that trait of shyness) deepened over the Ford. “‘Mrs. Beaumont,’” she murmured, trying it on for size. Saying it, hearing it in her own voice was near magic. “Oh, Ronnie, I’m so glad about everything I could cry. I keep wondering if this is really _me_ this is happening to, or if it’s just me in a dream.”  
  
“Don’t second-guess it, girl!” Veronica interjected. “I’m seeing it and it _is_ true. It’s high time you leave dirty-tired disappointments like Frank Farmall in the equally dusty past. Now me? I am over-the-moon excited. _You_ are going to be a striking bride, honey. We need to make plans.”  
  
Christine offered a little smile. “Well, aside from me accepting, we haven’t gone beyond that yet. Not really until we meet again this next Sunday, I’d say.”  
  
Veronica brushed this off. “Regardless. I have no idea if the studly truck I dream of will ever materialize for me to put on a wedding ring, so you allow me to live out the possibilities.” She finished her coffee. “And, I will be asking Mister Dreamy if I can call him my brother-in-law. You already know you’re a sister to me, Chris, and if I attach a term like that to your soon-to-be hubby, I’ll cease flirting with him.”  
  
“The idea of him being my ‘hubby’ isn’t enough to get you to stop?” Christine asked. A small silence fell. Both burst out laughing.  
  
“Alright, when put _that_ way…” the Chevy jested. “It’s all his fault he is so handsome, and you know what, I’m going to tell him that, too. He shatters the profile I have of trucks being my interest. See, I get a thrill out of the bed above _and_ below me, but that Caddy isn’t just a normal squat car like yours truly.”  
  
“You aren’t squat, Veronica.”  
  
“Shush, girl. Your man is a damn limousine. I can only _imagine_ what it’s like with that work of art north.” She threw the Ford an envious wink. “You lucky lady.”  
  
Christine narrowed her eyes in mock irritation. “Why do you always have to bring up what we do behind closed doors….?” she complained.  
  
“Because,” Veronica said, “as I told you, he’s dreamy. A dream on four of the most flawless whitewalls I’ve ever laid eyes on, and as if four of them aren’t enough, he’s got those two spares behind his front fenders under those chrome-latched silver covers. My heart flutters just thinking of it.”  
  
The Ford giggled. “Well, if he has to get a tire changed anytime soon, I’ll make sure he knows to save the old one for you.”  
  
“Please. Don’t encourage me. I’d be more inclined to hang onto that than the next man who rolls into my life. And it wouldn’t be good, because he’d be wondering why I have some random whitewall in my home that obviously isn’t mine.”  
  
“Tell him it’s your brother’s.”  
  
“What a charge.”  
  
“I’m just trying to help!” Christine laughed.  
  
“Help sink me deeper into this rut of attraction for your guy.” Veronica fired back. “Let’s move onto something better now that won’t tempt me. When are you getting married?”  
  
The darker car shrugged. “I can’t say, Veronica. Not until we talk about it.”  
  
“Okay. Let me rephrase that. When do you _want_ to get married?”  
  
Christine considered it seriously. Veronica refilled their cups. Another log was tossed on the fire to keep the chill out of the air. “This month,” she murmured. “December is the wintriest month of all, and I want to leave _my_ Winter in the past. I hate the season and that name has trailed me like a shadow of it my whole life. I want to get rid of it. I want to try something else.” She smiled softly at the Chevy.  
  
“I guess what I really want is to wake up someday soon as a new lady.”

  
. . . .

  
Considerate of any girl, but especially Christine, Harlan gave her the chance to make some of the greatest decisions of the future – their future – and one Sunday soon after they decided to stay in on a grey, icy day to think; to plan.  
  
Harlan felt luckier than he ever guessed could be possible; like he’d been the receiver of the greatest gift after he thought a fair deal was lost with the farewell of Celeste. Like any individual young and in the throes of newfound love, he saw the coming days as golden; effectively under a cloudless sky. He’d give her the moon, had she asked for it.  
  
Now she sat there before him, that shyly sweet smile curving her chromed lips. Hesitant light parted the filmy curtains facing the backyard, though it wasn’t strong enough to set alight the blues in her coat of black. Her smile broadened a little more; just a few moments before he’d asked her if she had any sort of day or month in mind she’d like to get married. _“I want you to choose,”_ he told her. Her something special after her past unions he knew few details of in verbiage but understood what lay in her silence. Understood, at least, in the very best ways he could.  
  
“December,” she told him. “This December. Do you remember what I said before, Harlan? That I wanted to wake up a new lady one day?”  
  
He nodded.  
  
“I think it’s apt to leave _my_ Winter in _this_ winter, and start the New Year as a new lady. As... Mrs. Beaumont.”  
  
He bridged the space between them, laying his pearlescent-silver fender against hers. Unlike her darker coat, his paint could sparkle under some of the dimmest light. His ornate grille too reflected the vague sunshine which entered the room. “I’m going to be the luckiest guy in Colorado to have you share my name.”  
  
She blushed, eyes cast down to her hood. “I think I’ll be the luckier one, Harlan. I didn’t think I’d ever been fortunate enough to get a companion like you. I’m just a plain girl in so many ways, never assuming a handsome showpiece of a Cadillac would see anything in a nobody.”  
  
He nuzzled her then till grey eyes again met blue. “I’m a nobody too, honey. I’m just a bank teller with no standing compared to the others. Haven’t even been there two years yet. It’s the only job I have though, and I’ll do it the best I can to provide for us – for our start.”  
  
Slowly her smile drifted across her features again. “How do you do it?”  
  
“Do what?”  
  
“Make me feel like everything really will be okay.” she clarified. He shrugged a bit.  
  
“I don’t think I’ll ever read the future, but I think as long as we have each other, it _will_ be okay, Christine.” He let his gaze linger on the Ford. With such a sweet soul as his soon-to-be wife, how could it ever be anything less?


	11. Chapter 11

**ELEVEN  
**  
  
Christine was certain about marrying Harlan and waking up as a “new lady” in that December, but one thing she wanted to do before making it truly final was presenting him to her mother, on the other side of Aurora. Christine had told her bits and pieces about him but saved the best parts for a meeting. She could only hope her mom felt as certain as she.  
  
He also promised her she would meet his relations, but when the weather was better; when snow and ice wouldn’t hamper the trip to the side of Denver they lived in. Although she was sure she could handle the drives across town, he was vehement. He would take no chances with her safety.  
  
Ingrid Winter was a beautiful woman with early hardships striating her sea-green eyes. Unlike her midnight-hued daughter, she was coppery, like the last vestiges of a summer sunset. Love filled her gaze as she looked upon her sole – admittedly unplanned – child.  
  
She kissed the darker coupe softly, sweetly; said an equally gentle greeting. Her gaze then beckoned forth the waiting Harlan. “So, you’re the one who’s given my baby such a smile,” she murmured, and then kissed the side of his fender too. “I’m very happy to meet you, Harlan. Come in, and let’s get to know each other.”  
  
Ingrid’s home was small, her rent paid by the wage she received as a hostess at some small café in town, a job she’d taken since the man she thought was a “good one” left her pregnant and also left town. It was meager, but the best she could have. Since her daughter’s conception, Ingrid had become shy of relationships and marriage for her own self and therefore fielded interested inquiries from potential courters over the years. For her child though, she hoped differently, and as her eyes observed the silver Cadillac, expected better of him; that his intents would be pure and Christine wouldn’t be left in the same straits.  
  
She looked upon them, carefully watching their exchanges and shared glances, and within her heart, warmth spread. It was young love she saw (yet she was not old) but still love; adoring gestures from his end to bestow on her. A tender gaze, a soft but assuring nuzzle silver fender to midnight. It was plain to her his every touch was filled with ardor as he sat alongside the one he would soon be able to claim as his mate. Ever so gradually, Christine leaned his way until she was fully against his side, and if his contented expression was anything to go by, this is where he hoped she’d be sooner rather than later.  
  
Ingrid was wary of their short courtship and hasty plans for marriage, but she didn’t know how to even say this. She really didn’t have room to speak, letting the “good one” spin a tale to her of an improbable future, intoxicate her with his ways, and leave her – alone – with a small baby named Christine nine months plus two weeks later. She’d never been married. Who was she to judge? The only thing she did know was that her every composed thought melted away upon looking at Harlan; leaving her to wonder only what it felt like to be in the presence – on the receiving end – of the company and touch of one who behaved like a gentleman. If that rare ideal existed, thank the powers that be her daughter had him.  
  
What was it really like, though, to be adored and treated like that?  
  
They sat in the small living room almost the whole of the afternoon, Ingrid asking pointed questions here and there just to be sure the answers she’d receive were positive. True to the ways her daughter said he had, Harlan would not fail her.  
  
Before both would leave, she quietly pulled him aside in one of the small, few rooms to her claiming. She met his eyes across a broad hood crowned in a glittering Flying Lady. He held her gaze fully.  
  
“Harlan,” she began, “my daughter came to me unexpectedly but she means so much to me. Her life started harder than any mother could want. I’ve hoped the best for her for so long now, and that she’ll take a different fork in the road.” Her expression turned stern. “Don’t you _dare_ get my precious girl pregnant only to leave her. That’s the way of a coward. Prove to Christine there’s better out there. Give her that hope.”  
  
“Mom?” the mentioned girl asked, entering the doorway. Her grey eyes were lit with questions. Harlan met those stormy depths until he was sure she’d accepted his reassuring, silent offer. Then he turned back to her mother.  
  
“I promise you,” he told her. “I’ll give her my best.” His attention briefly returned to the girl he would one day call his own. “She deserves nothing less.”  
  
Ingrid Winter closed her eyes momentarily, overwhelmed by the meeting and the multitude of emotions that poured through her: hopefulness, wariness, appreciation. Her sea-green eyes faced the world again, a color starkly different from that of her daughter’s.  
  
“You have my blessing then, Harlan, to marry her.”

  
. . . .

  
Christine chose a Saturday to get married, something before the holiday. Even as she went through the list of “Must Do’s/Good Ideas” from Veronica, she could still barely grasp that all of this was happening to her. It felt like a plot from one of those paperbacks she read, but almost even stranger. She’d never expected to get married anytime soon (if ever at all) and surely not to such a man who’d asked her the hoped-for question. Her underlying hesitance though was overlaid by much bolder anticipation; anticipation to start anew as a different girl with a different life. As it was, she never felt like she’d ever smiled more since her youngest years.  
  
Midweek she went along with Veronica to get her paint polished out one final time (even though it hadn’t lost much gloss since her first date). Upon leaving the winter sun struck the Chevy’s white nearly blinding to look upon, forcing Christine to look away several times even while trying to keep conversing with her. Outside of the salon, Veronica consulted the to-do list. An errant breeze riffled the paper.  
  
“Well, sweetie, that’s out of the way now and we’re both in tip-top shape for the big day. You look as gorgeous as a model too, I have to say.”  
  
Christine shifted to allow another lady into the business. “When car’s fly!” she countered, but without a dismal air.  
  
“I know what I’m talking about.” the Chevy answered. “Okay, now we have to go shopping. I understand and respect your choice of not having some fancy wedding but there’s one thing you are not going to get away with not doing, do you understand?”  
  
“I won’t until you tell me, Ronnie.” the Ford laughed. Veronica put her list away again and returned a smile.  
  
“This is shopping only _you_ can do right. I’m just going to be there for comic relief. We’re going to the jeweler. That Harlan is already handsome in every way but when you have to live with him 365 days of the year and twenty-four hours out of the day, you really have to make sure you enjoy what you’re faced with. You don’t want to look at something ugly during supper or while in bed, do you?”  
  
Christine just glared at the personal mention, desperately trying to deny the blush creeping across her features. Veronica ignored this.  
  
“Of course you don’t. So… you’re going to pick out a nice, befitting wedding ring and we’ll hope he’ll be just as decent to surprise you likewise. If I can offer any advice though, just don’t pick anything with rhinestones or the like. No man looks good in that frippery. Pimps like it but that doesn’t mean it looks good on them.”  
  
“Can we stop talking about this right in front of everyone, Ronnie?” Christine begged, growing more embarrassed by the second.  
  
“Absolutely, sweetie. Let’s get going.”  
  
They drove several blocks till Veronica braked before Aurora Luxe, one of the fancier department stores in town that was well-known for its jewelry accouterments but which also carried a variety of other goods and furnishings. Several other cars who’d passed Christine went by the Chevy before she could join her friend’s side.  
  
“Veronica, you know I can’t afford anything here.” she chastised. “I’ve never even been _in_ here.”  
  
“Neither have I, but there’s a time and place for everything.” her friend brightly replied. “And I consider a wedding a pretty good time. What could be better, Chris? Tell me.”  
  
In those sweetly-said ways, Veronica had got her friend good. “I guess you’re right.”  
  
“Come on. Let’s have a look.”

  
. . . .

  
Christine’s grey eyes couldn’t take everything in for that moment nor could it after the good couple hours they spent browsing this and that, Veronica recommending good things to stock up on when she’d leave her old home behind. She happily introduced Christine and her situation to the many employees of the store, ensuring the shyer Ford would get a fair share of smiling “congratulations” before they’d be through.  
  
Down a quiet aisle, Veronica perused her list again. “While we’re here, we ought to consider something else very important: your honeymoon. Everyone thinks they need to go to the south of France, but really, that’s boring. You can have an absolutely fine time at home because when all is said and done, how is the vast majority of a honeymoon spent?”  
  
“I’ll let you answer,” Christine passed.  
  
“In bed. That’s where. Most everyone you see came about courtesy of their folks’ honeymoon, so, keep that in mind. Maybe we should look at binkies while we’re here…”  
  
Christine’s eyes went wide with apprehension. “Oh, _no_! Please…. _don’t_ suggest that.”  
  
The Chevy laughed. “Alright, alright. Don’t say I didn’t warn you though.” She courteously waited for someone who had just entered the aisle to leave before continuing. “Should we look at beds while we’re here, then?”  
  
“I… don’t see any need to.” Christine allowed.  
  
“So his is comfortable and in good shape. Glad to hear it. Well, that covers a lot of trousseau necessities, so, want to move on?”  
  
Glad to be out of this sticky place her friend nodded. “I’m more ready than I can tell you, Ronnie.”  
  
Carefully polished and gleaming autos kept a firm eye over the jewelry counter where every manner of trim ring sparkled with the same richness beneath their carefully positioned lights, in their cases of flawless glass. In no market to wed but still interested in window-shopping, Veronica joined her friend in their perusal.  
  
“Ooo, I like this one,” she murmured, motioning to a rose-gold band etched with a simple yet effective border. Christine looked.  
  
“That’s more zeroes than I can afford, Ronnie.”  
  
They were interrupted by a gleaming clerk. “How are you ladies doing today?” he asked. She straightened, put on a hasty grin. Before she could speak Veronica took the lead.  
  
“We’re doing very well. My sister-friend is here because she’s getting married this month. We’re trying to pick something suitable for the lucky man.”  
  
He turned back to Christine, the proverbial blushing soon-to-be bride. “I offer you my sincerest congratulations then, Miss…?”  
  
“Winter. Christine Winter.” she filled in.  
  
“My best to you, Miss Winter. Any way I can help you pick? Anything you’re looking for?” he inquired. In the background, Veronica beamed.  
  
Christine offered a little laugh. “I guess I may need some help. I’m new at all of this and really don’t know what’s best and what isn’t. I didn’t realize there were so many types of golds and so many styles.”  
  
The clerk nodded, all business. “Absolutely, and that’s entirely understandable, Miss Winter. Well, if you don’t mind my asking, how does your intended look? What’s his brand, his style? That helps narrow things down a lot.”  
  
Christine began to tell him. “He’s silver, a silver like glitter though. It’s truly beautiful. Let me see… he has blue eyes. He’s a Cadillac –”  
  
“The most handsome one that ever lived and he’s also a banker. Don’t leave that out, Chris.” Veronica prudently added. She flushed but hadn’t any chance to say anything as the clerk was already motioning the pair towards another case. He pointed out a gold band that was noticeably stylish but minus etchings and engravings like the prior-viewed ones did. Thus it was also cheaper. Veronica murmured a sound of approval.  
  
“Does this look like something that would suit him?” he inquired of Christine. The degree of overwhelming she felt attending to this task she had no understanding of was undeniably powerful but even she liked what she saw. She carefully nodded her dark hood.  
  
“I do like it, I admit,” she said. The clerk smiled professionally.  
  
“Best get it then, Miss Winter. You never know when someone else might get it before you.”

  
. . . .

  
It was a Sunday and would be the last one Ford and Cadillac would spend as close lovers. The next one seven days later would see them as newlyweds. Just a few days after that they’d celebrate their first Christmas.  
  
This would also be the last genuine opportunity for a traditional date, but Christine hadn’t expressed interest to go anywhere. Instead, she happily bided the minutes turning to hours on Laredo Circle. He asked her if, on a decent-weather day, she was certain she didn’t want to go out.  
  
“I’ve been plenty busy lately,” she told him, smiling sweetly. “And, anyhow, the dates aren’t really mandatory. You’ve clearly already won me, handsome guy.”  
  
She brushed an ardent kiss on his fenderside, an assurance of the words, a silent promise that she was his and – beneath all of Veronica’s kind-hearted (yet very embarrassing) teasing – very glad to be.  
  
His steady gaze was as ardent as her touch. “I’m the luckiest guy in this town to get you for Christmas, darling.”  
  
“Don’t think I’ll wear a bow on my grille.” she giggled and gave him a gentle shove. With the brand of humor she’d come to so enjoy he gave her answer.  
  
“Alright, I won’t force you. I’ll wear one,” he assured. “But Christine, I have to argue your point just a little bit.” She inquired what and why. “Your point that I don’t need to ask you out on a date anymore because I’ve already won you over.”  
  
“But you have,” she said, perplexed at where he was going. He leaned his frame over to nuzzle her affectionately.  
  
“True, and I’m very glad of it, but abandoning the idea of ever asking you out for an evening here or there would mean I’d think there’s no need to impress you or charm you anymore. I don’t take you for granted, lovely lady.”  
  
Christine hadn’t ever heard this idea or had she, much believed its worth. Her own father (unknown forever) essentially used Ingrid. Her very own first boyfriend had taken and used her. Frank had tried to get her tipsy and generally used her too, although Veronica would have to be the one to dissect their relationship and outright say it. Christine tried to defend him or make excuses.  
  
But here was a man saying even before a guaranteed marriage he wouldn’t mind taking his intended out on a date, for the sole reason that he didn’t take her for granted? She felt a surprising smile alight upon her features. The love for the car alongside her suddenly deepened in that very short moment.  
  
“I think a perfect word for you is ‘gentleman,’ Harlan.” she lovingly said. “An honest gentleman.”

  
. . . .

  
 _ **DECEMBER 21, 1940**_  
  
Neither Harlan nor Christine wanted (or could afford, to be truthful) some extravagant wedding so the pair found themselves before the courthouse that Sunday morning, to be officially bound by the county clerk. It was a bitterly cold day with ice frosting every tree branch and blade of grass on the lot. The only guests in attendance at the simple affair were Ingrid and Veronica. Upon that crisp grass though the cars soon to be officially husband and wife sat; Christine’s midnight paint rendered pure black in the overcast light but her more demure variety of chrome all aglitter. Harlan’s recently polished paintwork was smooth and faultlessly glossy; every touch of shimmer in it sparkling where that very same overcast light allowed. His varied chrome trim, from his ornate grille to the strips along his body, reflected the small ceremony double.  
  
Opposites the two were, yes, but the love they shared made Veronica know no other pairing would be finer. Even the strikingly simply courthouse wedding failed to dim this. The smile she wore was filled with truth. This had to be one of the happiest days of her life, too.  
  
When Harlan Beaumont and the girl who now upon this day shared his surname were declared husband and wife, officially mates, the sun broke through one small gap in the clouds. The ice across the grass and other frozen foliage sparkled as if coated in the same glitter replete in the Cadillac’s silver paint. Also, it briefly made the blue in the Ford’s coloring gleam, like the deepest hour of the night; smooth and as bottomless as velvet.  
  
The pair joined in a polite yet plainly loving kiss. Upon their left rims, gold trim-rings silently binding them together shone with brilliance in that December sun.


	12. Chapter 12

**TWELVE**  
  
She softly sighed, sinking deeper into the warmth and the comfort. The light in the room was clear but she had no want to face it yet, no want to get up. She wanted to stay in this very place and time forever. The brass-trimmed clock reliantly tick-tock-ticked onward. She shifted over slightly, the more petite curve of her front fender nestling against one longer, broader. Within her mind, everything still was in a haze lent by deep sleep. Everything she saw had been wonderful, yes, but there was a truth she always knew upon opening her grey eyes to the world.  
  
It was a dream.  
  
Many a happy and cheering life she thought she was living was shattered upon waking. She wanted to stay where her mind was now; with the man who gave her worth. The man who made her feel beautiful.  
  
She turned a bit and sank low upon the bed, clinging to the dregs of that happy sleep. How wonderful such a dream could be.  
  
Her smile and peaceful expression were something Harlan wanted to commit to memory forever as he gazed upon this beautiful girl – his wife – with unwavering love and devotion. His coworkers could jest all they wanted about the humorous bet they’d won in his marrying a 1st Bank customer, but the way he saw it was no laughing matter. After the eventual end with Celeste had come he accepted there’d be no one in her stead for a while. It was only logical; given his job and limited days off, he hadn’t looked either. The fact she had come to his desk that day and that her best friend later sprung the blind-date was something like fate, even to a realistic workaday man like the Cadillac.  
  
He looked over at the ticking clock. Almost twenty past eight. How glad he was that this was a Sunday and he had no place to be. Not that anything would compel him to leave his sleeping mate’s side, of course. He’d stay there for as long as need be and silently proved the point by settling lower on his shocks and softly nuzzling her, silver fender to midnight dark.  
  
What created that lovely smile? What did she dream?  
  
The morning light crept across the window and found the gap in the drapes. It spilled through like a willy-nilly intruder and landed across the pair. Dust motes danced in its rays. For the longest time Christine still slept until the warm patch across her hood infiltrated her mind and slowly, with confusion, she opened her grey eyes. How reluctantly though. Now her dream would end.  
  
Wouldn’t it?  
  
Akin to her night vision there alongside her was the silver limousine, his fender to hers, the man who gave her worth. The man who made her feel beautiful. She blinked. Her companion gently nudged her. “Well, good morning, lovely lady.”  
  
She furiously blinked the remnants of sleep from her eyes, and in turn, her mind. “Good morning, handsome,” she murmured, still feeling fuzzier than she wished. And then her eyes latched onto the feature on his left rim and she was awake for good. A golden band; the one _she_ had picked out. Absentmindedly she shifted her own left tire though she’d not be able to see the accompanying twin metal decorating it. “It _is_ true. Oh, thank Chrysler, it really is!” she said, suddenly so happy she could have cried.  
  
“What?” he asked, not understanding. She met his blue eyes.  
  
“Oh Harlan, I had a dream that I was with you not just for a lone Sunday but for something like… forever. I’ve had dreams like that before, not with anybody I knew, but just the idea. The idea of that permanency, I guess, if forever isn’t actually real. I was with you in it though, and…” she sighed, briefly closing her eyes. “It was the best feeling and the happiest place I’ve ever been. I was afraid to wake up. Until I saw it was true and you were still with me.”  
  
Now he was compelled to smile, first at her vision and second to reassure her fully. “You know, I feared the same thing,” he said to her. “I thought maybe as real as it seemed yesterday, signing the license and all that, maybe it was all just a dream too. Maybe when I woke up I’d realize it had never happened and I’d have to spend this Sunday thinking of what good movies there were to take you to at the theatre. Not that I don’t enjoy every aspect of that, but I sure looked forward to a whole lot more of your company than just one day’s worth. That instance was the hardest lesson of patience I’ve ever had to deal with. When I woke up to see you right there though, and I realized it was all true – nothing will make me happier.”  
  
She cuddled against the long Cadillac. “And we really are that something like forever.”  
  
“Nothing less,” he promised her.  
  
Always more.  
  
Before this day, Christine would’ve already risen from bed to begin her day, whatever it consisted of. She wasn’t overly fond of lagging about past 7:00 but today was different. She was very happy to stay there in that place even as the little brass clock marched onward to eight o’clock. She had nowhere to be and no excuse of why she needed to be up. Her dream was a reality. What could be better?  
  
Delighting in her new role as a newlywed wife, she initiated a kiss drenched in ardor to the Cadillac she could happily call her husband. Their chrome trims sparkled in the morning light. Atop his hood, the glistening Flying Lady reigned over, an approving goddess supreme. Now that he was really, truly hers, she looked upon this wonderful man with eyes that would never forget. That ornate yet befitting divided grille, in three parts. The main portion and the slant of it parallel to the inner curve of his fenders. The insignia capping it of the Cadillac crest flanked by a pair of chromed wings. Wings mirrored again in his hood ornament. Chrome continuing in a sweeping piece beginning on the sides of his hood, across the length of his sizable frame, and terminating (gracefully) right at his rear panels before the trunk would begin. The gold and black state-issued license plate in a simple, thin frame of chrome. _6-11717_.  
  
She was fully awake from her dream, looking upon reality and the new chapter in life to follow. This would only be one day in a string of many in the future to be shared in this way. She promised herself it could never get old.  
  
Her gratefulness was unspoken, shown only when she leaned into and kissed him again. She never had to leave this house or wait for the weather to cooperate for a date again. Their shared affections, clearly deep in their level of honest love, left Christine dizzy most wonderfully. She begged him to not stop. That sort of kiss, that touch; he knew it all. He spun it into meaningful art. Clearly, he wanted to prove his devotion and for there to be no lingering doubt of his adoration to the girl he’d been able to keep and make his wife.  
  
Christine did not count the number of kisses shared; she dwelled only upon the spark of love in them, their flame. She never knew it could be like this; never knew that real life could mirror those books she’d read. Never knew that what conspired in one room with one individual could render the rest of the world a place to be ignored and drab. It was as if the rest of the city faded out and the only noteworthy color lay _here_.  
  
Her heart was lost to him and she fell a willing victim to his compassionate touch, to his plainly honest words, assuring her that he was the luckiest man in Aurora if not Colorado, whole, to share a surname and a life in a way brighter and better than he could of when 1940 began.  
  
They forgot about the clock and the sun’s arcing path across December’s sky in the way only the young, in-love can. She gave herself up to him, welcoming his further advancements, his touch. She had lost the privilege of calling herself a virgin in years past, before Frank, before the one preceding him. It was lost to both Ford and Cadillac, but where unconditional love lay, it was forgotten. As in the time before this when they’d shared these affections after seeing the beautiful tree strung with lights to celebrate the holiday on Aurora’s town square, and the first time before _that_ when she had asked him to claim her as his girl, it was all that Christine had never known and guessed to only dwell in fiction. And now they shared it all not simply as lovers but as husband and wife; she no longer Miss Winter but instead Mrs. Beaumont.  
  
With Frank and all the others, it had simply been an act of sex, claims of being beloved influenced by drink, or simply by duty. It was the thing to say, even if it wasn’t meant. With _this_ man though, her Cadillac, it went far beyond any of that. It was like drowning in a sea of warmth and of being truly treasured, drowning in that sheer beauty and hoping to never break the surface for air, for fear it would all disappear.

  
. . . .

  
They sat together in the living room. The curtains were thrown open wide. Their last worry was a fading carpet and a cross landlord. Snow blanketed the world but inside all was warm and right. There wasn’t much to see outside aside from that very snow and the roofs of other homes beyond the fence. Grey, heavy clouds slipped over an endless sea of sky. Alongside one another, Ford and Cadillac watched.  
  
“How long do I have with you?” she asked, her breath fogging the glass.  
  
“Your whole life, if you want,” he answered, smiling. “However long forever is.”  
  
She looked over at him now, compelled to laugh. “You silly guy! I know _that_. How long do I have with you like this – every minute – before you go back to work?”  
  
“Oh, that,” he said. Their gaze returned to the outdoors. “With me being the new kid on the block, my boss was pretty generous, which I couldn’t thank him for enough. I have to go back Tuesday, so, there’s one more day we can have like this. Of course, I wish it were more, but I can’t complain entirely. I had Saturday free to make you my wife, this day to realize it’s a reality, and tomorrow for whatever is to be. And every day afterward we’ll be together, even though I will have to be gone for too many of those earlier hours.”  
  
She moved over to lean against his side. “How do you want to spend tomorrow?”  
  
He naturally responded to her nearness via a long and ardent nuzzle. “I don’t know. What about how we spend today first?”  
  
She laughed again, a soft sound happier than it’d been even the month before their initial meeting. “I am under your influence, Harlan, and I feel like saying something Veronica would.”  
  
He turned to her first. “Is that a bad thing?” he inquired through a curious smile.  
  
“Depends on how you look at it. I’m a modest girl.”  
  
“Ohhh, _that_ sort of something then,” he said, and threw her a wink. In another time, she would’ve blushed before ever encouraging such behavior, but she was no longer that girl, Miss Winter, she told herself. She was a newlywed wife to a man who brightened her life. She was Mrs. Beaumont now. She playfully returned the wink.  
  
“Mmmm-hmm, _that_ sort of something.”  
  
He casually shrugged. “Is it too racy for me to hear?”  
  
“I don’t know.” she giggled. “What can you handle, you big and handsome man?”  
  
His pale blue eyes registered intrigue. He carefully reversed from the window to better face her. “You’ve got me hooked now, Christine. Better just say it, you know.”  
  
“Wipe that smirk off your bumper.”  
  
“Do I have to?”  
  
She feigned exasperation and heaved a heavy sigh. “Can we just get away from the window? I don’t want any peepers listening or seeing. I did say I was modest, remember?”  
  
They left the picture window for space before the fire. The images upon the wall looked down upon them. Christine wisely decided to leave the gift print of Pikes Peak in her prior apartment for the new tenant to enjoy. Veronica said it was best for her to leave all trappings of her old relationships behind. She didn’t argue. No one won an argument with Veronica Hall that was steeped in grains of truths.  
  
“Now _you’re_ the one smirking.” Harlan gently countered to his wife. She shrugged.  
  
“I’m just thinking about how much racier this will sound with your baby picture on the wall, Mr. Beaumont, watching me,” she replied and motioned with her hood to the image of a crazily happy tot, gifted at some point by her mate’s mother.  
  
“You’re looking at that baby if it’s any consolation, honey,” he replied. “I’m a better conversationalist now than I was then. I know a few more words.”  
  
She briefly lost herself in the blue of his eyes. “You’re the most charming man in this world, Harlan. I have no one else to compare you to, so you must be the top of the line.”  
  
“That wasn’t very racy…” he teased her. She assumed a little glare.  
  
“Maybe I just won’t tell you at all!” she tried with a tone he knew wasn’t truly stern. Still, he played along.  
  
“ _Alright_. I’ll mind myself. If you don’t tell me I’ll never stop wondering.” he gave in before adding as an afterthought, “Ignore my baby picture.”  
  
Her innocent glower faded to be replaced by her common, sweet expression, though fragments of mischief danced in her stormy eyes. She looked upon the silver Cadillac, utterly flawless, and how utterly and deeply she was in love with him too. She was his. Those grey eyes held his from under her ebony sweep of liner.  
  
“I hope tonight won’t be the only time today we share a bed, Harlan,” she said. A glint of shyness still was there though she did try her best to bite it back. After all, she did mean what she said even while being Veronica for that moment was a test. He smiled in the smooth way he had that she loved, reassuring her again.  
  
“That could be arranged, honey.” he agreed, and then leaned in to bridge the gap she’d put between them to say more with a sound kiss. She returned and held it for seconds that felt like forever. She opened her eyes anew.  
  
“Thank you for loving me,” she said, tone heartfelt. He looked upon her with equal warmth.  
  
“There’s no other way for me to treat you, Christine. I’d have been in sorry shape if I had to only like you.” At this, he softly smiled anew. “I could never be happy with that.”  
  
Now she returned his expression. “I couldn’t just like you either. I tried to not even do that when we met; Veronica springing the whole blind date later soured it more. Not because you weren’t decent, but…” she paused, apologetic, “because I wasn’t ready. At least I didn’t think I was. You’re an honest gentleman though, and…”  
  
“Here you are.” he filled in. The happiness in her eyes confirmed this.  
  
“I sure am. I’m glad to be your girl.”  
  
“I’m proud to call you that.”  
  
. . . .  
  
The small patch of sky affording sun vanished midday to be replaced by snow; snow that fell straight down from the sky, having no wind to shift it. The quiet of it, and the chill felt even despite the heat of a wood fire, was the perfect excuse (though none were needed) to return to the sanctuary of their shared room. There, for a variety of reasons, lay comfort and warmth, making the snow that slowly frosted Aurora a matter dull and easy to forget.  
  
Christine leaned into Harlan’s long body, wishing to be nowhere else. She had sunk low on her shocks, the shadow from her small fenders’ overhang darkening the tops of her thinly-banded whitewalls. She looked lovingly at the Cadillac.  
  
“I still can’t believe this is real.” she began. “Somewhere I keep thinking I’ll have to end our visit and leave again.”  
  
“I haven’t convinced you well enough yet that you’re my mate?” he inquired with an easy smile but roguish snap in his blue eyes. She smirked.  
  
“You’re acting fresh.” she scolded, playful.  
  
“Not ‘acting,’” he gently corrected. “Only speaking.”  
  
“If I give you enough time, you’ll act.”  
  
“And would you mind? You haven’t yet,” he told her, catching her (slightly) off-guard with a kiss to the side of her midnight fender that she waited out whilst wearing that sweet smile born in demureness he loved so much. It made her cute and beautiful all in one glorious moment. She cut him a gaze from the sides of her eyes.  
  
“No, I wouldn’t mind.” she agreed. “You take all of the things in my past and nearly make them disappear.”  
  
The wind began to show itself outside, making snow wetly splatter onto the windows as it shifted. Harlan paid it all no heed and dropped down upon his shocks to closer meet his mate’s height if his long, limousine frame could never match hers in same.  
  
“Anyone who could treat you less than decent just doesn’t respect the lady you are, Christine,” he said to her words.  
  
A flicker of something he couldn’t name – it came and went so fast – lit her stormy eyes. “I’m nothing outstanding, Harlan.”  
  
“You won’t make me believe that now or forty years from now, honey. Even in a hundred,” he answered in a gentle tone with a smile of the same soft quality.  
  
She pressed up against his side and quietly sighed. “You’re so different from everyone. I never had any idea, someone, like you existed. I…” She quickly shut her mouth again as the recollections hit her.  
  
Harlan looked at her with a worried sort of concern. “You what, Christine?”  
  
“It’s all in the past,” she said, her voice changed and vacant  
  
“You can still tell me if you want.” he offered. She remained silent for a long time, debating her choice. Finally, she gave in.  
  
“No one knows this. Not even Veronica. Only you will. Don’t tell my mother and don’t tell your parents, please.”  
  
He assured her in promise.  
  
“Frank, my boyfriend before I met you, he…. I don’t know how to say it. One of the times I was over at his place, he tried to coerce me to stay over the night. I remember I didn’t want to… I just didn’t feel like it. His solution…” Here she bit the inside of her lip and looked down her midnight hood. She couldn’t bring her eyes to him. “His solution.” she tried anew, “was to get me drunk.”  
  
The silver limousine looked upon her. Had she returned his gaze she would’ve found it sympathetic. “What happened, darling?” he gently inquired.  
  
She twisted the bedsheets around with her gold-ringed left tire; anything was better than nothing to try to distance herself from her next words. “He… I… let him. And I’m… I’m so ashamed of it… even now. Until then, I’d never drunk… I just never had any interest but… but even when he offered, I… I didn’t think it could really be that… awful. I… I lost count of how many I had. I’ve never been so sick in my life as I was the next morning. He... made fun of me and… said I was a… pathetic sissy. From that one night and me not being used to it, I had to get some filters replaced… they were completely ruined. I couldn’t even tell the doctor how it happened so… I just… lied about it. I’m as embarrassed now as I was then.”  
  
Harlan was a remarkably even-tempered young man but upon hearing this he wanted to positively punch this man named Frank’s headlights out. What he’d done wasn’t just rude but utterly cruel in his mind. But slinging a punch at someone never helped matters, and either way, he wouldn’t leave his girl to do it.  
  
He pressed his frame to hers, a gesture of unfailing warmth and love. “Oh Christine…” he said through a dismal sigh.  
  
“Do you blame me?” she asked in a tone so sure he wondered another time about her past and what all had taken place in it.  
  
Silver fender shone against bluish-black. “Of course not, honey. Why would I?” he assured her. “How could anyone be that inconsiderate? That’s all I keep wondering and wishing I found the answer to. He obviously didn’t have one manner in his entire body. I’m sorry, Christine. I wish I could change just one portion of your life for you, and that instance would be a good start.”  
  
She tried to brighten. “But it’s over now. I have you. I wish, just once, he could see us together. I’m such a lucky girl now. But…” Here she dropped her eyes from his, choosing instead to study his hood ornament over and over again. “But I’m sorry I didn’t tell you some things before we were married. There was this one other time that scared me more than I’ve ever been scared. After Frank and I had been together for a couple of months, I began waking up awfully sick. I didn’t know something was going around Aurora and… I thought for sure I… I was pregnant.”  
  
He looked at her till her eyes finally met his. “You must have been terrified,” he said, his voice caring.  
  
She slowly nodded. “I was… because of my own childhood and because… because I don’t really feel… fond, I guess, for kids.” She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Another thing I guess I should’ve told you before you married me.”  
  
A fierce gust spun the snow against the curtained window panes and Christine dipped down nearer to the bed and her companion as if that very wind infiltrated the room. As he spoke to her her eyes traced the gold wedding band he wore, the other half to her own.  
  
“I don’t think it’s much surprise you feel that way, darling. After all, you had that awful job babysitting those two you told me about.”  
  
“The Evans’ brats,” she murmured.  
  
“I wouldn’t argue with that term either. They sounded like brats in every sense of the word. But, aside from them, there’s your own childhood. What I know about it makes it seem only natural to me that you’d be nervous or apprehensive or, as you say, just not fond of the idea. I wouldn’t ask differently of you.”  
  
She closed her eyes and leaned against him. The strong stance of his carriage was a comfort to her. “Didn’t you say, Harlan, that the reason you and your one girlfriend broke up was because of your different ideas when it came to children – partly?”  
  
“That’s true.”  
  
“You said she wanted more than one child and you preferred none. I guess that’s where I never thought to outright say to you how I felt… because it seemed you had already said it.” She opened her eyes and looked at him again. “I’d prefer none too… if that’s okay.”  
  
He softly smiled at her and said the words no one else had. “My objective is for you to be happy, no matter how your mind changes.”  
  
She returned the smile. “You’re such a rare sort. Thank you.”  
  
“I’ll never treat you less than you deserve to be treated, darling.”


	13. Chapter 13

**THIRTEEN**  
  
A Christmas for newlyweds, the start of many future ones to come. The days leading up to the holiday were swamped in snow and ice but for once it wasn’t a bother to Christine. She had left her Winter behind, banished forever. The icicles suspended from the eaves of the house she could wonder upon and admire, not loathe as she had ever since she could remember. But, that gazing would have to wait, given their current predicament.  
  
“I don’t know, Harlan.” she giggled. They both sat there on either side of the room, inspecting the tree they’d purchased at the nearby lot. Although the flawless spruce appealed to him most, Harlan had to say no to it for two reasons; one, it was outrageous in price and he had no desire to sink them in debt from moment one, and two, it was much too tall for the house. Why, it’d have to be cut off at least two feet to even fit in the living room, and that definitely would’ve ruined its’ pretty symmetry. So, they settled on a bargain one from the “nobody wants ‘em” pile.  
  
“I see what you mean…” he considered. Trying to remedy it he tilted it more towards the right.  
  
“It’s still crooked, and now I see the sparse spot.” the Ford pointed out, a broad grin across her face as she motioned to the willy-nilly branches.  
  
“Should we face it more towards the wall?” he asked, inspecting the pathetic tree.  
  
“No, because there’s that other spot where the needles were crushed.”  
  
“I give up,” he said, feigning a disgruntled sigh. Before he knew it she’d pulled up alongside him.  
  
“Just because something’s not as pretty as all the others doesn’t mean you give up on it. You didn’t give up on me.” she offered and spun the words into a kiss on his fenderside. “It just needs a little love.”  
  
He smiled. “You’re already beautiful though, and the popcorn garlands would just take away from your looks – not add to them.”  
  
“Oh, go on!” she laughed, giving him a shove. “I’m not ever wearing a garland or a wreath.”  
  
“Come on, Christine… why be such a scrooge?” he fired back with equal humor. She traded the shove for an affectionate nuzzle as she came close to him again and there gave her reasoning.  
  
“You brightened my life when it was its lowest point. You’ve made me happier than I’ve felt in too long. You made me believe Christmas really can be a joyful time. You’re _my_ gift, so _you_ can wear the garland and the wreath and the bow, honey. You said you’d wear a velvet bow on your grille one day anyhow.”  
  
He looked upon her with eyes that reflected all the love he felt for this special girl he called his wife. How could he refuse the curve of her smile and the sparkle in her stormy eyes?  
  
“Alright, darling. I’ll let you choose the ribbon.”

  
. . . .

  


Decking the halls – literally – proved to be filled with fun and the best variety of joy Christine had known, making this holiday an occasion she knew for sure she’d never forget, even when 50-odd years would pass! Somehow though, between their humorous passes, that little and thinly branched tree got festooned with garland and glass. The string of lights twinkled happily when the switch was flipped and the Ford cheered. She looked to her mate.  
  
“I think it’s the prettiest tree ever. See, all something needs sometimes is a little love.”  
  
“A little love to bring out what’s already there?” he offered. She nodded.  
  
“That’s right.” She nodded with satisfaction to the tree and then turned her attention back to the box nearby her. “Alright… ribbon. Let me find something I like.” The silver Cadillac looked on as she shuffled through the remaining contents. Like a prospector holding aloft a piece of gold, she plucked a spool of burgundy velvet trimming. A pleased sparkled filled her eyes. “Oh, Harlan, this is just _perfect_!”  
  
She showed him the spool, grinning wide. He returned a smile to her. “Well, have at it then. I’m all yours.”  
  
A happy and mischievous gleam lit her eyes as she slowly began unspooling the ribbon. She turned to face him. “Alright, big guy, lean down.” He willingly accommodated her, tipping down on his front shocks. She struggled to reach his hood ornament.  
  
“Lean a little further, please.”  
  
He did.  
  
“Just a lil more?” she beseeched. He could never refuse her but this was a whole different matter he could do nothing about. He offered her a lopsided smile from his quite awkward stance.  
  
“Darling… I _can’t_ go any further. I would if I could believe me!”  
  
It was only then she noticed how compromised he looked, sunk to the floor on his front and his back tilted higher than a normal bearing ever showed. She was consumed by a fierce blush and a shy giggle. “Oh dear… that’s a view I haven’t seen yet.”  
  
He threw her a wink. “I hope it’s not an awful one, sweetheart.”  
  
“Not awful, but shocking.” she playfully flirted and coyly pulled out a fair length of ribbon which she began pulling through the bars in his tall grille. “Since I can’t reach that ornament at this moment…” she explained as she tugged the velvet trimming out from the other side “You get to wear a bow instead. Stand still now. No funny stuff.”  
  
Carefully she measured it even on both sides, snipped the velvet, and tied the first knot. She hummed as she worked, making little tweaks here and there.  
  
“Excuse me… Mrs. Beaumont?” her companion began. She heard the humor in his tone and didn’t fall for it.  
  
“Mmm-hmm?” she allowed, trying her best to not break into a mile-wide smile at no longer hearing ‘Miss Winter.’  
  
“What qualifies as ‘funny stuff?’” he inquired in the fashion of a small child. Not showing a smile proved to be harder than she originally supposed.  
  
“If you have to ask like that it means you already have a rough idea of what does, Mr. Beaumont.” She added another loop to the bow and knotted it down.  
  
“I run a blank, lovely lady,” he said and rose enough to give her an affectionate kiss she had no choice but to return, although harmless barbs followed it in her words.  
  
“See? That’s exactly the thing I’m talking about. Now, I’m just about done. Any more of that and I’ll never finish.” She motioned him to lean down again and quickly tied off the last loop. The ends of the remaining ribbon were pulled down level, snipped at an angle and the whole job was tilted and tweaked one last time before the Ford smiled with final satisfaction. “There! I’m glad I learned how to do that fancier style in that one magazine. It works better for you than some simple loops. You’re a very handsome present. Especially at that angle.” She giggled. “You can straighten up now, I’m through with that.”  
  
She watched as his headlights rose above hers again when he assumed his typical carriage. “Well, thank you very much for decking me, Christine.”  
  
She smiled back. “You’re very much welcome, Harlan.”

  
. . . .

  
The doorbell rang as the pair contemplated the last necessary touches to the mantle. Were two garlands perfect or too much? Christine was wrapped up in the décor – literally – and while trying to disentangle the current swag she asked her companion if he wouldn’t mind seeing who was outside instead.  
  
When Harlan opened the door the first thing to come through was a biting breeze. The second was a white Chevrolet. Veronica threw a flirtatious wink at the Cadillac.  
  
“Well, well, look who was behind Door Number 1.” she purred. “Hello, handsome. What a fancy present you are, bow and all. Everything under my hood is melting.”  
  
Christine heard it all and fired back her own response in the blink of an eye. “Watch your mouth, Ronnie! I hear you loud and clear!”  
  
Veronica pouted briefly before turning back to the amused sedan. “She never lets me have any fun…”  
  
“What an awful shame…” he answered, playing along.  
  
“Oh, I sure wish I could kiss you, big guy.” she sighed, loudly enough for Christine to also hear. “You’re the best looking piece of steel I’ve seen all week.”  
  
Before more could be said Christine, now free of her garlands, pulled into the entryway. “Don’t let her tempt you, Harlan.” she giggled. Veronica took that split second of his diversion to swoop in and place a kiss on the side of his nearest fender. The Cadillac turned, catching her at the tail end of her act. She smiled in a way that said she was caught and knew it and oh well.  
  
Christine chided her. “Now Veronica… I thought you told me you’d stop ‘encroaching’ on him.” The Chevy considered.  
  
“True, Chris, but… I don’t have any power anyway. He’s married to _you_ and I’d never break that specialness. All the same though, I’m a firm believer in doting on a man when he _is_ the only man in the room. What fella wouldn’t like to get doted on by two gorgeous ladies?” She threw Harlan another wink. “Name me one, Harlan.”  
  
“I… don’t know.” he managed, given the turn of events.  
  
“See, Chris? Every man likes to be spoiled.”  
  
They convened in the living room, the three, and Veronica murmured approval at the decorated tree. Perfection was overvalued, she said, and the sparse little pine afforded character. Her eyes wandered over the rest of the room, the single swag over the mantle where Christine decided less was really more. Then she looked back to her best friend and that dazzling man.  
  
“Well, you go on and tell me how life and marriage are treating you!” She paused to make a show of sighing. “I’ll just… sit over here… all alone… pretending I don’t see and know a man named Harlan.”  
  
“Oh, come on!!” Christine exclaimed. “You’re practically my real sister! Sit on the other side of him. I’m not taking up all that room!”  
  
Harlan offered her his easy smile. “If it’s any help, I don’t mind in the least, Veronica.”  
  
The Chevy’s eyes brightened just like a young girl’s at any chance had to be with or see her crush. Unlike many of those very girls though, she wouldn’t demure. Instead, she brightly smiled back.  
  
“Well, what a nice offer. Thank you!” She left the far side of the small room and looped up gracefully along the Caddy’s left side. Her eyes caught the polished gold wedding band he wore, perfectly offsetting his gold-crested hubcaps. And, of course, she wasn’t blind to the snowy whitewalls of his tires. She gave him a little nudge. “Didn’t think an already classy chassis could get any classier, but you throw that idea upside down and break those rules, Mr. Beaumont.”  
  
From the other side of him came Christine’s voice. “You’re flirting with my husband, Ronnie.”  
  
Quick-thinking Veronica had a perfectly snappy answer to that. “Flirting, sweetie, is harmless. I think we know where we stand. After all, I don’t share a bed with him at the end of the day. Or the beginning, middle, and otherwise.” She leaned up against the Cadillac in a conspiratorial fashion. “ _Just so you know,_ ” she whispered, “ _Chris wants 2.5 kids, so… just be aware._ ”  
  
He turned to Christine who obviously appeared to have not heard this part. He tilted her direction, accidentally knocking Veronica in the side with his running board. Whilst it was her own fault – given she kept worming nearer and nearer to him – he still apologized. She just hoped the touch left her with a little scuffed paint.  
  
“You want half a kid?” he asked of his wife. “Two-point-five?”  
  
Christine’s confusion turned to understanding. She glared, though everyone’s spirits were so good it was merely an act. “Veronica…” she slowly said. “You keep up and I’ll have Harlan ask you to go home, you know.”  
  
Her brown eyes widened in mock fright. “But I just got here! I can’t go home _yet_!”  
  
The Ford pulled away from Harlan’s side and faced her friend with a little smirk. “Be a good girl then, Ronnie.” The Chevrolet groaned and halfheartedly relented.  
  
“Now, tell me about how marriage is treating you. I want to know. And I’ll behave.” she promised. As she sat there (ignoring Harlan in the best ways she could though he was dangerously near) Veronica watched and heard her best friend’s review of the beginning of something better than wonderful.  
  
“I’m the luckiest lady in Aurora,” she related and leaned in to give the Cadillac an adoring nuzzle he met in return. “This sweet fella is what I never thought existed and is far more special than I could ever say.”  
  
Veronica was a snappy gal most of the time but when she saw the sweetness of true love, she was quick to appreciate it. “Awwww…” she murmured, watching the sedan lean forward and take over the role of lavishing affection on a mate. Christine sank on her shocks and tilted his way, glad to accept his gently assertive role-reversal. “You two are perfect for each other. I can see you both now at eighty-something. You’ll be that stereotypical loving couple that your grandkids will look at and think ‘how cute.’”  
  
Christine laughed. “Our nonexistent grandkids, you mean.”  
  
Veronica rolled her eyes. “You got a crystal ball, sweetie?”  
  
“No,”  
  
“Then you don’t know what the future holds. I’ll knock on this door 4 months from now and you’ll have that glowy look and say, ‘Ronnie! We’re getting a start on the 2.5 kids!’ I can see it now.”  
  
“Ugh, no.” the Ford groaned. Veronica swapped attention to the Cadillac.  
  
“Hey, handsome, your mind might change too.” She gave him a playful poke. He smiled at her.  
  
“Even _if_ it does, I respect her over anything else.”  
  
Veronica looked at him with new eyes. “My heart is fluttering. You’re a bona fide chivalrous gentleman. With class falling out of your lug” – she looked at Christine’s warning expression – “nuts.”  
  
The Cadillac’s expression was laughable at best. “Well, I can’t say I’ve ever heard that phrase before.”  
  
“I’m all original.” the Chevy hastily responded. Christine cleared her throat.  
  
“Ronnie…”  
  
“I’m innocent, honey. I promise.”  
  
They talked before the fire about so many things as outside the short winter day spun into a sunset and then into the dusky night. Veronica was a forward lady but the humorous and kind rapport between all three was plain and far more ended in laughter than in glares. Just before she figured it was time to move on out, the Chevy posed one more thing she’d been thinking intensely about but hadn’t found the right time to voice yet. What a better occasion than the present?  
  
“Harlan,” she began, setting her coffee cup down and facing him, “I have a little question for you.”  
  
“Go on,”  
  
“I have a powerful crush on you, obviously, but it goes against everything I am. I’m a girl who loves trucks. Somehow or another though you flipped my mind topsy-turvy and I find myself in love with a man I’ve no chance of having.” She laughed. “I bet your ego feels fabulous knowing you have two beautiful women in love with you.”  
  
“It’s certainly a bind I’ve never been in before,” he chuckled.  
  
“Here’s my proposal. If you let me kiss you hello-and-farewell on either of those bold fenders – and Chris doesn’t mind – I’ll think of you officially as my brother-in-law and never swoon over your lug nuts again. In front of you, at least. What I think in the privacy of my own place is my choice no one can impede on. Sound like a plan?”  
  
“Possibly, but ask her first,” he said, motioning to his wife who’d been grinning at the whole exchange.  
  
“You’re crazily wonderful, Ronnie. Yes, it’s fine with me.”  
  
Veronica turned a brighter grin onto the Cadillac. “What a pleasure, having _you_ for my in-law. The whole town will be envious.” She giggled at the idea. “Say, you’re a genuine limousine too, aren’t you?”  
  
The white Chevrolet may’ve been a wild card, but when around her Harlan saw what made his wife choose her for her best friend. She blazed like a firecracker and filled an entire room (could even infiltrate a concert hall) with her dynamism. “I sure am,” he told her and with a grin directed to his wife, “My parents still question if I’m the same car in that baby picture.”  
  
“Awww…” the women said in (pitying) unison. “Not even recognizing their very own, _handsome_ son?” Veronica added. Christine shot her another look that went unnoticed. By now it was a game.  
  
Harlan nodded. “Sometimes I think that’s true,” he told them. “When I was a kid my mom would measure me against the big wall on the west end of the kitchen every week. There are all these little pencil marks she still keeps on there ranging from when I was the size of a normal kid up until I moved out.”  
  
“And how long is that mark?” Veronica inquired, agog.  
  
“Around 19 ½ feet.”  
  
“And your weight?”  
  
“I…” he trailed off, confused at her interest. “Can I ask why, Veronica?”  
  
She grinned. “A man afraid to share his weight? Honey, I’m asking because I want to be sure anyone who asks and wonders knows that my sister is in the care of a man stronger and more sizable than any of those flivvers any day. Now your weight, please, Mr. Beaumont, dearest brother-in-law?”  
  
The confusion vanished from his polished features. “Well, _now_ it makes sense. Fifty-seven-hundred pounds.” He turned to his wife with an expression of eternal love. “And I definitely won’t ever let anyone bother you, darling.”  
  
Christine’s first thought to this was, ‘ _I’m not worth anyone’s time to bother,_ ’ but to say she wasn’t touched by his pledge would’ve been a pure lie. She smiled at him softly, lay her fender against his. “Thank you,” she murmured.  
  
From her other side, Veronica leaned in and whispered, “Over twenty feet long and 5700 pounds? What. A. Body.” She thought she’d get away with it but the Ford had other ideas. Mischievous grey eyes dashed from the white car – “You said you’d stop swooning,” to Harlan – “over your brother-in-law.” she pointed out.  
  
Veronica wondered what the long-term problem really was though. Since when _did_ a man not enjoy being flattered?

  
. . . .

  
In like a firecracker and also out like one. That was Veronica Hall through and through, one to leave the mind spinning even after she was absent. It was past 8 when she finally got serious about leaving. Now it was half-past nine and Cadillac and Ford spent those final moments before retiring to sleep (it was a myth that adults stayed up late all the time) talking over the day and the dynamo who was a friend to both.  
  
Harlan gave his mate a gentle nudge. “So, tell me how we should go about the whole two-and-a-half kids situation.”  
  
She began to laugh. “I guess pretty easily… seeing I don’t want one kid, two kids, or a half a kid!”  
  
He feigned exaggerated relief. “Oh, thank Chrysler for that one. I was pretty sure, remembering the day my dad gave me the facts-of-life talk, he never mentioned how to go about having half a kid. Of course, it’s possible he did know and just figured I wouldn’t be faced with the decision one day. Honestly, I _was_ thinking about phoning him tonight, asking if he knew the correct plan.” He threw his wife a wink. “Maybe give a few directions I could refer to.”  
  
She buried her laughter in his side. “Stop it!! You’re giving me a blush that’s never going to go away!!”  
  
“Oh, I’m sure it’ll go away at some point, darling.” he offered.  
  
“Maybe not!”  
  
He leaned in to give her a long nuzzle. “Alright. I’m sorry in advance for making you wear a coat of blue, black � _and_ red.”  
  
She met his eyes. “Apology accepted,” she said, smiling. “And if I ever did want half a kid, I’d only want you for its dad so… in that case… maybe you ought to ask your father for instructions after all. Half a kid is half the trouble. I should think of it that way.”  
  
“That’s true,” he nodded as she snuggled into his side. She sighed with contentment.  
  
“Your parents really wonder if you and that cute little kid are the same?” she asked, motioning with the end of her hood to the squat tyke encased under glass. Now he was the one to laugh.  
  
“To this day they still wonder where the limousine genetic came from; since they’re standard length and so are their parents, my grandparents. I was manageable when I was small but the minute I started matching their size and too-soon exceeding it… I wish you could’ve been there to see that one, Christine. I backed into walls, furniture, bushes, you-name-it I can’t tell you how many times. When I finally figured out how to handle myself I got my rear bumper fixed up with a new plate of chrome. Running into one or two hedges and rosebushes leave just a little bit of a lasting mark.”  
  
She grinned. “There’s the idea for half a kid… half the length!”  
  
“I couldn’t guarantee that’d be the reality, honey.” he apologetically said. Her smile stayed since both knew their talk was nothing more than that: a talk. Silence fell, the only sound from the periodic snaps from the fireplace. Christine closed her eyes, a smile permanently fixed upon her pretty features.  
  
“This will be the best Christmas I’ve ever had,” she murmured.  
  
“Here’s to a hundred more?” he offered. She shook her hood.  
  
“A thousand,”  
  
The string of lights upon the little pine blinked on and off in the darkened room, a sparse little pine that needed nothing more than a few careful touches to bring out a beauty – too easily overlooked – that was already there.


	14. Chapter 14

**FOURTEEN**  
  
In every year since she’d moved out Christine had spent Christmas with her mother, for although neither had very happy feelings for the day, what joy could be had was found together instead of both residing at home often alone. Now the tradition was simply carried over a different way, and on the 25th of December young Ingrid Winter with eyes that knew more than she ever wanted to, softly knocked upon the door of an unremarkable home on Laredo Circle. It was the first time she’d been invited anywhere for Christmas in a long while and although this was to see her daughter and the man she’d given her heart to, she still spruced up the best she could afford to. Her copper paint was like a penny, one not newly minted nor used up and old, but warm with trial all the same.  
  
“Mom!” her daughter happily greeted and with unharnessed enthusiasm pulled out into the swirl of soft snowflakes to give her a kiss and warm nuzzle. “This will be our happiest Christmas ever.”  
  
The daughter followed her mother into the warm house. The copper car sighed. “It’s so nice here, sweetheart. Like a real home.” She smiled softly at her grey-eyed child. “I couldn’t hope to be happier for you.”  
  
Christine looked down to the hall rug, darkened where the snow had melted. Where her mother sat just a few tiny flakes remained on the fabric and then dissolved before her eyes. “Sometimes I wonder if it’s still a dream,” she confessed.  
  
“Don’t disbelieve.” Ingrid firmly said, though her voice still was soft. “ _Believe_. It is real.” Mother and daughter shared a gaze that said leagues more before a car of sparkling silver pulled up to join them. Christine turned to him as he brushed up against her.  
  
“You did straighten your bow as I asked…?”  
  
“I did,” he promised, smiling. His blue eyes met the similar hues in Ingrid’s sea-green. “I’m so happy to have you share Christmas with us, Ms. Winter.”  
  
She looked first to her daughter and then back to him again. “It’s a very sweet offer, Harlan,” she said. “Thank you for it and for giving my girl so much.” She kissed the Cadillac’s fender with the same adoration as if he were her own son.  
  
“I’d give her the moon,” he assured her. Christine giggled.  
  
“And what would I ever do with that?” she asked. “I don’t want that. I have everything I could want with two I love.”  
  
In the living room in the glow of the tree, the fire, and the two lamps, Ingrid found her eyes wandering over the photographs hanging up. A warm, maternal smile curved her lips when she saw the one Christine had grinned at also. She looked back to Harlan. “Is that you as a baby?” she asked, pointing it out. He replied affirmatively. She looked at it again. “I have a picture of Christine like that.”  
  
He looked to his wife. “Now there’s something I’d like to see. A beautiful girl has to start somewhere and I can just see you as being precious.”  
  
Ingrid turned to face the two again and added before her daughter could dismiss the compliment, “You are right about that, Harlan. I could never find another child as sweet in looks or temperament as my little girl.” She gave the younger car a loving touch. “I wish the whole city could’ve seen you.”  
  
 _And your father too_ , she said within her mind.  
  
Christine shyly smiled. Although she knew her existence in her mother’s life hadn’t been planned and that supporting the two of them – solo – was a mind-numbing task for too many years, Ingrid had never treated her as a burden and Christine would never feel like one though she knew she had been in many an instance. What other words could be it?  
  
“Thank you, Mom,” she murmured.  
  
“Always, my darling,” Ingrid answered. When she looked up her eyes met Harlan’s. “I forgot to tell you at the door how much I like your own decoration.” She motioned to his maroon velvet ribbon with a laugh.  
  
He smiled. “Well, I _did_ promise her that I’d do something festive for Christmas one day, so…”  
  
“Here you are,” she filled in.  
  
“Here I am,” he said with humored conviction. Ingrid gave it a little tweak to straighten what apparently wasn’t so.  
  
“I like it,” She looked back to her daughter. “It’s good seeing you being a mischief-maker and having fun again. I’ll never forget it when you were just a little thing and you strung that garland on my back bumper.”  
  
Christine’s grey eyes registered confusion. “I… what?” she asked. Her mother’s expression was gentle.  
  
“It’s okay, we never usually remember what we did when we were little, so it’s up to a parent to keep track. You were seven months old and we were decorating for your first Christmas…”  
  
In that humble room a girl who had forgotten, a man who’d never known, and a woman who’d never forget sat together hearing a story that was enjoyed by all. Everywhere else in the city other scenarios played out; many of them by those bent on the power of possessions gained on this gifting day while for certain others what lay in a story lasted longer and was worth more.  
  
“Mr. Slater gave us that little tree from the bargain stand,” Ingrid reminisced.  
  
“That’s where I got ours, too.” Harlan pointed out. The copper car nodded softly.  
  
“Perfection is overvalued,” she said, echoing the same words as her child had earlier that week. “We had that gold tinsel garland, Christine, remember? You loved wrapping that around your tires as a small girl. But that year we also made a popcorn strand. One minute it was there and the next it was gone!” She grinned. “I kept asking you where it was.”  
  
Sudden recognition flooded Christine’s face. “I remember that much a little bit! I think it had little colored beads in between the popcorn. I liked all the colors.”  
  
“You did. And I guess you thought it’d be fun to try wrapping it around my bumper when I was busy doing something else. All I know is I looked in my side mirror and I saw popcorn trailing me and suddenly –” Here she laughed. “– I knew exactly what you’d done with it. It was very precious, but I’m just glad I didn’t back into you while you were being crafty.”  
  
Christine grinned. “That was fun. I’m glad you told me, Mom. It’s good to have a nice memory.”  
  
“It is, sweetheart,” she said and then looked back to Harlan. “And now she’s back to her old tricks with you. Lucky guy.”  
  
The three of them laughed. He gave his wife a nudge. “Well, after hearing that story, sounds to me like I’m only half-decorated. Maybe a popcorn garland would benefit me also.”  
  
The Ford blushed. “I didn’t think about your back-end at the time!” she exclaimed, flustered. Ingrid nudged her fender to fender. Their opposing eyes met. She smiled.  
  
“Don’t worry, Christine. You have a whole lot of Christmases ahead of you. There’s time.”  


  
Ingrid Winter stayed till early evening when the snow outside slowed and then stopped. She knew it’d be best to head off before the streets could get worse (they always could) and for the snow clearing to begin. To the wishes of her daughter and the young man she called her son-in-law, she promised to drive safe and let them know when she was at home without incident. Now the three of them sat in the entryway on the runner rug, exchanging final sentiments.  
  
“Thank you again for having me. I had a lovely time, though I only knew that’d be the truth,” she said, looking first to her sole child and then to Harlan and then the two as a whole. “You both are wonderful together. It makes me happy to see the start of a good relationship.”  
  
“I’m a lucky lady,” Christine said, leaning into her companion’s side.  
  
“I’m the luckier one,” he gently disputed. She softly laughed. Ingrid’s smile said it all.  
  
“Looking at you two makes me have not a single worry. I always wanted the best for my little girl and for her to have a truly special individual in her life to call her own. It looks like you’re it. It’s a treat to have an honest gentleman like you in my family, Harlan.” Her warm eyes lingered on his. “Remember though, if you ever slip up once around Christine, I’ll know about it. Mothers have that sixth-sense. I’ll know about it and you’ll hear about it so… keep your grille clean.”  
  
“As I have every intention to!” he heartily professed. She laughed. And she believed him. First, she gave him a kiss farewell and then turned to her daughter.  
  
“Remember the popcorn garland next year!” she whispered, humor dancing in eyes that showed the trials she’d been through but throughout it all still belonged to a young woman as well.  
  
“I will! And I’ll make sure he wears that _and_ the bow on his first day back to the bank.” she firmly assured her mother. Harlan did a good job of pretending he hadn’t heard a single word though to say he did was an understatement.  
  
Ingrid wished them a merry rest of their Christmas and all the best for the New Year. She told them she loved them and all too soon she was again gone. It was as if her hours there hadn’t even existed.  
  
Christine quietly shut the door and stared at her reflection in the knob for a long several seconds. “I already miss her…” she confessed, slowly turning back to her husband. His expression was that faultless sort of kindness and understanding that always warmed her.  
  
“She’s a very sweet lady. I’m glad you have her,” he replied. They both returned to the living room. Christine drew the drapes.  
  
“I’m lucky I do. I can be upset all I want to over my dad who doesn’t exist in my life other than the word, but I know it’s all water under the bridge. He’s gone. Probably out of state by now. Never coming back. I just wish my mom had someone. A companion she could spend time with after she gets home from work, and just on the weekends like you and I do. She’s uncertain though about most guys after what happened with my father. I guess that’s really what I’m trying to say.” She switched off one of the lamps nearest the wall before finding her place at his side. “Mom and I are the same though, really. I didn’t have any illusions of grandeur for that sort of thing either. Frank was my normal no matter, and you, Harlan, you’re the fantasy. And if you worked any of the hundreds of other jobs in this town, I’d have never met you. Three months ago I would’ve been indifferent. Now I can’t imagine that possibility.”  
  
“Then don’t,” he consoled. “I don’t have any plans to go anywhere.”  
  
The pair stayed up until the telephone rang. Ingrid assured her daughter she got home safe and sound and again expressed thanks for the joyful time together before wishing her a good night and the best of dreams.  
  
And one more reminder to deck her husband in a popcorn garland a year from that day.  
Christine hung up smiling. The lights on the sparse little pine, pulled from Mr. Slater’s bargain pile, festively blinked.  
  
On.  
  
Off.  
  
On.  
  
This day proved to her that Christmas really could be very happy.

  
. . . .

  
_Scarlet lady.  
  
She sat before the mirror; before the silent replica of herself. She looked everywhere else but her tear-stained eyes. She appraised her reflection like it was not even herself. The curve of the fenders, the vertical bands in her chromed grille, up and down. Military straight. The ornament upon her hood, crowning her as something special.  
  
Something worth remembering.  
  
Scarlet lady.  
  
She hated that term more than she often let on. Hated it because it seemed destined for her and her own coat of paint that could be called that. And more.  
  
Crimson.  
  
Gorgeous.  
  
Cherry.  
  
Delightful.  
  
Ravishing red.  
  
A vision.  
  
Blood.  
  
What had conspired tonight wasn’t rare and yet it was. Maybe it made more sense to say that the final act that had befallen her wasn’t the norm while what led up to it was.  
  
She slowly pulled away from the mirror and then looked at the two bills atop the nearby table. She picked them up, counted them again. Five and five. Ten dollars. She stacked them neatly and set them down again.  
  
It wasn’t rare to be propositioned as a “Christmas gift” this time of year. She’d been there for Christmas, birthdays, anything else in between. Money was money to keep one alive. There’s no judgment. She blinked her eyes again, finally clearing them. She didn’t dwell on these sorts of meet-ups long. There’d always be another. One bad. One better.  
  
The telephone rang, jangling her thoughts. She picked it up. Said her average greeting. There was no need to cover-up what she did. No one else would call except them.  
  
“I’m feeling darn lonely tonight, sweetheart,” he said. She immediately put on what was an act so long she realized there really wasn’t much beneath the shroud. Her lusciously curved lips morphed into a sultry smile as if he could actually see it.  
  
“I can make you feel your best. You know that. Since when has my body failed you?” she murmured in a husky voice.  
  
It never had. He said he’d be over.  
  
“I never have worked free on Christmas.” she reminded.  
  
“I know. You’re worth my entire paycheck.” he firmly stated.  
  
“Now that’s sweet…” she purred. “Bring at least half of it with you.”  
  
He told her he’d be over. She hung up, put away her previous pay and refreshed her perfume again. She knew she wouldn’t get the dollars she’d hoped for when he saw her now. Unfortunately, there was no way she could fix it in an instant. She hoped he wouldn’t change his mind.  
  
He came in the hour. She didn’t have to try hard to seduce him to her bed though her nature knew little else. He gave it to her like a man who hadn’t seen a woman in a year. No matter the bad run-ins she delighted in this carnal pleasure wholly.  
  
They lay there, the bedsheets rumpled. She never took her eyes off him. Her lips were curved in that sensual bow. She knew how to live in the moment. His visual perusal of her body and its generous curves was suddenly detoured when he saw the reminder of her prior job.  
  
“Your headlight…” he started. “It’s… broken?” It ended like a question even though there was nothing to question.  
  
“My Christmas present,” she murmured, caressing his fender. He fumbled for his billfold, snapped it open, and paged through it. He extracted two bills. Offered them to her. She took them. Two twenties. Forty dollars.  
  
“Because a girl like you deserves a lot better present,” he said. She nodded.  
  
“I appreciate it,” she said, reaching over to put it on the near nightstand. And again their bodies would become one.  
  
In one city Christmases were as varied as the lights that sparkled from the buildings, Some were good. Some were average. Some were forgettable.  
  
One girl got someone she loved for Christmas.  
  
One girl got her headlight shattered by a punch.  
  
Scarlet lady._

  
. . . .

  
Like many folks in an era that prized frugality over wastefulness, the newlyweds kept their funny little Christmas tree until around the second week of January 1941. By then it was way too far gone to let stay a minute more in the house. Crispy little needles seemed to follow Christine everywhere; to the point where she was sure she’d one day find them on her pillow upon waking. It was sad to say farewell to the final vestiges of the happiest Christmas she had ever had in too long, but she consoled herself by knowing there’d be more in the future.  
  
Honestly, the hardest thing to cope with was having her husband have to return to work. It didn’t help when he lost his half-day and worked a regular eight-hour shift the whole week thru. She found herself waking up an hour earlier just to have that extra time with him in the morning before evening would fall upon his six o’clock return. She couldn’t wait until the seasons would change and daylight would still exist; when they could sit there at eight and see a sunset together rather than the midnight-blue sky of winter.  
  
They sat there at their dining table one average night upon his return home. Harlan sorted through that day’s mail, made a pile of trash, and then turned to the importance of the bills. Christine stirred her cup of tea. She smiled teasingly at him from over her cup when she held it aloft. “My honeymoon with you ran out far too soon, Harlan. I want another whole week with you to myself. Those darn customers at the bank see more of you than I do.”  
  
He smiled back. “But do they really, darling? You’re the only one I share a house _and_ a bed with, you know.”  
  
She giggled, a sound that was always like bells. “When put that way…” she reflected. “But I do miss you when you’re gone. So much.”  
  
When he looked up from writing the current check, their eyes met. “I miss you too, Christine. I figured I thought of you all I possibly could when we were just dating but…” He winked. “I’ve been proven very wrong. Now I really can’t wait until I leave so I can come back here and see you. I’ll let that door shut clear on my bumper one day.”  
  
“Owww, that wouldn’t feel nice.” she winced.  
  
“Missing my girl all day long and being surrounded by everyone else but her doesn’t feel nice either.” he gently countered. “But knowing I’ll see you every single day when I come home and every morning makes it all tolerable.”  
  
She set her mug down. “I try to look at it the same way. Is everyone there being nice to you?” she asked, quietly searching the blue of his eyes she never tired of.  
  
“Streeter still gives me a hard time when it suits him, but then that’s typical of him.” he shrugged his front tires outward, an unconcerned gesture. “Not long after I was first employed he came up with some joke of how bizarre it’d be for a bank employee to fall in love with a customer. It spread around the whole building in a matter of an hour. When an employee, aka _me_ , doesn’t just fall in love with a customer but happens to marry her, well…”  
  
“The news spread like a wildfire?” she asked softly. He nodded.  
  
“You could surely say that, darling. Workplace humor is an odd breed.” He reassured her with a warm smile. “Let them have it, I say. I’m just glad to not have to call myself a bachelor anymore. That wasn’t exactly my favorite title.”  
  
She savored the way that very smile made her feel. “You make me glad to call myself married. I’m not sure…” She paused, considering her words. He finished filling in the check and looked up to her, waving it in the air for the ink to dry. His concerned expression conveyed what wasn’t said. The Ford tried smiling and started over.  
  
“I’m not sure where I’d be without you, Harlan. I really don’t. I didn’t know what love and a real relationship were like outside of a fictional story and I assumed all there was was what Mom knows. My life has been in fits and starts of happiness longer than I can say. When I get to spend time with Veronica, I’m joyful, but then if I spent the weekend with Frank it was different. But I didn’t know anything other than someone like him, so I guess I was happy in my own way but it’s not… it’s not at all like this.” She shyly laughed. “Would you believe what happened on that day you asked me to be your girl? I tried and tried my hardest to get to sleep but I couldn’t! I was so affected by that that I cried – with happiness – for nearly a full hour. And I was so excited. I hoped that it would be the start of something I wasn’t sure existed, even though I was afraid, too. If that makes sense. And I was so afraid even when we first went out to the theatre. I figured even if I did get deeper feelings for you… how could it work? I figured you were a dream at best. Unattainable at worst.”  
  
He capped the pen and set it aside, his attention solely upon her. She wondered if that was his best quality (aside from being strikingly handsome, of course). Those wintry blue eyes belonged to a man who was young but they held something like greater age within their striated depths. She felt calm and important every time they held her own of grey. And with an equally caring smile, he was devastating.  
  
“Have I been able to make you believe the ‘unattainable’ actually is possible, Christine?” he asked. Her grin broadened.  
  
“In every way, darling. In every way.” she enthusiastically answered. Her hood ornament sparkled as she nodded. When he looked upon her he felt sure it had been far longer than this small smattering of months. If he had known this lovely girl from the start he had few doubts of where things would’ve gone. He’d have proposed to her with utter surety.  
  
“Then I’ve done a portion of my job,” he said, nodding in turn. “If you’ll allow a guy to be frank –”  
  
“Don’t refer to yourself by that name, Harlan.” she gently interjected. “Phrase or not, you’re far better.” He smiled anew.  
  
“Alright. Then, if I can be forthright, you deserve to know several things. In the matter of these few months, you’re sure the dearest lady I could ever ask to know. The best friend, the loveliest wife, and the sweetest mate.” His smile turned subtly naughty. “And it goes without mentioning, of course, that you know how to turn _this_ man on.”  
  
She felt the heat of a blush creep over her, though she had to admit she felt very flattered all the same. “I’m just a little, humble Ford Deluxe, handsome.”  
  
He abandoned the disarray of the mail to come over to her side of the table and give her a deeply affectionate nuzzle fender to fender she was powerless to ignore. “And that is exactly what I find thrilling.” he pointed out. He drew back to only appraise what he already knew. “You’ve got a very fine set of curves too, you ought to know.” He threw her an honest wink when he turned to face her again.  
  
She bashfully lifted her gaze again to him. “Thank you, Harlan. I wouldn’t want to appear any less to you.”  
  
“You’re more than you think you are, honey.” he gently said. “And most of all you’re the love of my life.”


	15. Chapter 15

**FIFTEEN**  
  
 **FEBRUARY 1941**  
  
Although young the life she had made Christine pretty well consider her birthday as nothing more than a day to cross off the calendar upon acknowledging that, yes, she was a year older. Aside from that nothing ever changed.  
  
But this time… she had her curiosity set alight. She figured something was up, though she had no luck getting an answer. On the fifteenth, a Saturday, the pair sat together in the living room, each attending to their own agendas though one mind wasn’t focused. Christine dully looked at an article (‘ _How to Starch Sheets CORRECTLY_!’) in _Modern Lady_ before flipping the leaf over. She looked up.  
  
“Harlan, you’re being awfully secretive over this whole thing. I’m not sure if I should feel glad or worried… no one’s ever made a fuss over me before like this.”  
  
He lowered the newspaper he was reading to look at her. “Aww, why would you be worried, Christine? I don’t have it out for you.”  
  
She shrugged. “But how come you don’t say anything??”  
  
He smiled. “Because. I want it to stay a surprise for you.”  
  
“Well, it’s surely being that! Can I even have a little, tiny hint?” she begged. He set the paper down and gave her full attention.  
  
“Alright. I’ll try. Here are two hints: We’re going _somewhere_ , and I took Thursday thru Sunday off. I can’t say anything else.” Here his expression turned apologetic. “I’m sorry, darling.” The Ford gasped.  
  
“Four whole days?!?”  
  
He winked. “That’s correct, darling. Four whole days. I think I remember you saying how much you missed us having that extra time. And I honestly couldn’t agree more.” She eagerly nodded.  
  
“I did, and I do!” A broad smile affixed itself to her features. “Oh Harlan, just being able to have four days with you from morning till night is enough of a treat. There’s nothing else I need! Or _want_!” She tossed the magazine onto the end table to instead lovingly pin herself to his side. She buried her front into his glittering silver frame, committing to memory everything about him she so loved – the elegant sweep of his styling; the pleasant (versus overpowering!) aura of his cologne; everything. Everything about him was something she wholly cherished.  
  
He faked being surprised by her enthusiastic affection when really he simply enjoyed it. Every moment with his girl was rewarding. “Now Christine,” he countered, chuckling. “Don’t say you don’t ‘want’ anything else yet! You have no idea what I have planned.”  
  
“Because you won’t tell me!” she giggled, giving his big fender a playful shove. “You know what… let me guess. You said we have to go somewhere. Are we going to be going across an invisible town line to Denver?”  
  
He shook his hood. “Denver is far too close and too… ordinary.”  
  
She pursed her lips, studying the warped reflections in her midnight hood as she thought. For a girl that wasn’t accustomed to being really treated, she had a hard time even knowing where to begin guessing. “Not Denver…” she murmured. “Mmmm, is it far?” He shrugged.  
  
“Well, not too far. An hour? Maybe a little more.”  
  
She nodded, thinking carefully still. Where would he take her? She leaned over and rested her full length into his flank. While they were remarkably opposite in every noticeable way, her smaller frame fit as neatly against his as if it was simply meant to be. Like the final piece to a puzzle. Her grey eyes were half-closed.  
  
“Are we going to the mountains?” she inquired. He sank on the side nearest her to give her an affectionate nuzzle.  
  
“Maybe…?” he allowed through a broad grin she may not have seen at this angle but could plainly decipher all the same. “I mean, if I tell you _exactly_ what mountain, that’ll give away a lot of it.”  
  
“North, East, South, or West?” she asked, grinning in turn. Now it was obvious she was simply trying to give him a hard time more than anything. “Or maybe it’s a little Northeast or Southwest?”  
  
It was there he turned to answer her with a sound kiss. Their eyes met, both rather on the playful side and neither sorry for it. “ _Now_ you’re just messing with me, Christine!” he replied. “And you know what?”  
  
She smiled shyly, reinforcing again to the Cadillac what a strikingly beautiful woman she was. “What, Harlan?” she softly asked, peering at him with those intent grey eyes.  
  
“I don’t mind it in the least,” he reassured her. “If I had to spend the next fifty years having a girl give me a hard time, I’d gladly sit them out with the lady I love. You make me a better man, darling. With you I have everything.”  
  
She took a few seconds to count the cadence of her heart. It felt like one of those lifeless sentences in the books she’d read come to existence. “What’s ‘everything,’ Harlan?” she carefully asked.  
  
He leaned over to allow repose of his fender to hers. Those blue eyes she felt worthy in momentarily closed as their owner looked inward. What was ‘everything’? And then he looked at her again, holding her own gaze without a flinch. “Everything, in this situation, is what the best parts of life are, Christine. These best parts make up a bigger whole that succeeds in obliterating anything else. I can spend a day at work, get to be the target of Streeter’s relentless joke, and atop that find myself helping a customer who isn’t happy no matter what I do. I could make it rain silver dollars and that particular individual would still complain. Some folks are just like that. Sometimes I’m so tired of it all when I leave there that it takes a special effort to even keep my eyes and mind focused on the drive home. But the minute I turn onto this street and the second I shut the front door behind me, all that mess is gone. Because of you, Christine. _You_ are everything that takes it away and puts it in perspective. In you, I have the best friend I’ve ever had and ever will have, and also the love of my life. If I’m not grateful for that, someone oughta knock me over the hood and ask why!”  
  
She felt it again, the way she was sure she always would; an appreciation so deep it left her wordlessly thankful and in turn, on the verge of tears. She didn’t try to speak because she wasn’t even sure what she could say, so she simply said it best in a gesture. Eyes closed she turned to ardently kiss him. She thought not so many months ago that this sort of love was only in fiction. Now she realized what she had was better, far better, than a simple story. Far better than line after line of black text upon white paper. In those stories, a perfect man always got a perfect woman who had a perfect past. Christine’s was a shamble in every way but never could she detect mockery or ill-intent in his voice. It was loving from beginning to end. He was her opposite, yes, but…  
  
“You’re my everything, too,” she murmured, visions of some mystery that lay either East or West (or even Northeast) fading like sunburnt fog from her mind. It didn’t matter where exactly his promised surprised was. She only knew that with her whole heart, she’d trust him.

  
. . . .

  
On Sunday all dreary but necessary chores were accomplished, Christine taking care of the house stuff and Harlan leaving to attend whatever was needed in town. Around 3 he returned to find Christine just finishing the tail-end of the wash. He flashed her a bright smile. “It’s a surprisingly pleasant day out there. Looks like it’ll stay clear, too.”  
  
“Well that’s nice,” she said, distracted by trying to figure out how exactly to starch those sheets correctly. She looked up and noticed his grin. “What…?”  
  
He tossed the house key on the coffee table to meet her head-on in the small laundry room. “I had an idea…” he led in. She watched him.  
  
“Yes…?” she allowed. “Are you going to try to make me guess something again?” He good-naturedly laughed.  
  
“No, honey, nothing like that. I just wanted to know if… _maybe_ , you wouldn’t mind going out later, getting a drink, of some sort? Since it is nice, it’d be awful to stay indoors through it all.”  
  
Now she was the one to giggle before fixing him with a sweetly stern look. “I don’t know...” She picked up the iron again and pressed it over a squiggly wrinkle. “You don’t really look like my type, Mr. Beaumont.”  
  
“I don’t?” he played along. She kept working; keeping her eyes downcast to her work was the best thing she could do for she knew if she met his she’d burst out laughing.  
  
“Mmm-hmm. Your nobility makes me faint of heart, and I don’t run with men like that. I’m not even quite sure how you turned up here while a girl is just trying to iron laundry.” She reached over to straighten the material. The gold trim-ring on her left wheel sparkled in the light. “Is there any reason I should go out with you?”  
  
He shrugged, even though she didn’t see it. She also didn’t see his polished grin or the mirth within it. “Is the fact you’re the love of my life enough of an excuse? Or do I have to try harder? And, speaking of such, darling, is there any special reason _you_ are taking such pains to get those sheets as smooth as a new piece of paper? You must know they’ll get wrinkled again after tonight. I practically see no reason why they wouldn’t.” Here he gave his V16 engine a low rev that hinted at what was unsaid. She looked up, smirked, and threw a pillowcase at him. He dodged it.  
  
“Mind your manners!! My goodness, Harlan!” she giggled.  
  
“Well??? Am I right or am I wrong? They _will_ get wrinkled again won’t they?”  
  
She picked up the other pillowcase and slung it at him. He ducked a second too late and down it fell over his Flying Lady hood ornament. “They won’t get wrinkled if I force you to sleep in the living room tonight!”  
  
“Aww, you wouldn’t do that to a guy!” he countered. She quickly shuffled through the laundry basket, yanked out a buffing cloth, and pitched this at him too. It gracefully parachuted onto his nearest fender. “Hey!”  
  
“I will if you keep giving me a hard time, Harlan!” She gave him a boldly sassy little grin. “Maybe _I_ want to keep my sheets wrinkle-free for one night. If that entails you sleeping out here tonight then I guess we can do that.”  
  
He heaved a sigh of mock defeat. “Fine. Alright. I’ll sleep out here tonight on the cold floor without the company of the gorgeous Ford who does far more for me than a Duesenberg. You’re far too sexy for me to handle, honey.”  
  
A fierce blush flooded over her but with summoned aplomb, she flung another piece of laundry at him. “Rascal, rascal, rascal!!” she exclaimed. “I don’t care if that word is from my grandparent’s day! You are one!!”  
  
“Am I also your new clotheshorse, madam?” he inquired with dry wit and a mock English accent. “It seems I’ve been demoted.” Laundry lay scattered across his hood and fenders. His blue eyes registered unflappable humor though. Christine turned off the iron and set it down again.  
  
“Harlan, you’re naughty.” she sweetly chided. He brightly smiled.  
  
“Only because you bring it out in me.” he just as sweetly answered. “Think of it this way, Christine: all week long I deal with the mixed bag of what’s Aurora and that entails a lot of men. Young, old, you name it. I grow weary of it! When I see you… I can’t help myself.” He smiled apologetically.  
  
“I know you don’t feel like you’re much, darling,” he went on, “But to me, you’ve established the honor of being the most beautiful girl in Aurora – and Denver too.” He tilted his long frame at a rakish angle that managed to be effective even with his wash-strewn hood. “And what you do to me in bed is, of course, an entirely different – but worthwhile – subject to investigate.”  
  
He winked at her.  
  
She couldn’t blush any more than she already had.  
  
“I’ve run out of small things to throw at you…” she sighed. “You’re awful.” He came over to her side, shook the laundry off into the basket with a toss of his hood. Then he shrugged.  
  
“Well? Does this awful man get the pleasure of treating his lovely wife or not?”  
  
She couldn’t help but smile when her eyes met his. “Let me get cleaned up, and I’ll be ready to go.” She made to leave the room but halted briefly to softly nuzzle his side. No matter his “rascal” ways, she did love him endlessly, and if anything those same ways made these feelings run deeper. Smiling to herself, she headed to the washroom.  
  
Harlan waited like a gentleman in the living room, surveying the scene outside. He nodded with approval (and assurance) to himself to see the still-clear sky. His attention was shifted when Christine entered the doorway. He turned. She wore a shy little smile along with a smattering of water droplets yet to dry on every reach of her body.  
  
“There’s my beautiful angel,” he warmly greeted. “Looking like a million dollars.”  
  
She settled in a small patch of sun nearby. “I’ll never _look_ it, but you do make me feel like a million,” she admitted. That shy smile brightened. “And that’s the best feeling in the whole world.”  
  
He joined her side. “And it’s a feeling you’ve gone without for far too long and should’ve had far sooner.” Softly he nuzzled her. “Forgive me for being awful earlier…?”  
  
This inquiry evoked from her a light-hearted laugh. “There’s nothing to forgive. I wasn’t mad at you, dear.” She now scowled at him. “You did a good job of getting me out of sorts though!!”  
  
“So… do I still have to sleep out here tonight, or...?” he posed. The smaller Ford gave the big Cadillac a playful shove laden with affection.  
  
“You have permission to sleep with me tonight and every night after. You’re my friend and my mate and I want to spend every one of those seconds with you.”  
  
The soft scene of her perfume lay adrift in the air.

  
. . . .

  
He treated her to the service of a lavish cabaret that startled her so much with its glitz she briefly forgot its name as soon as they entered.  
  
Fairmont, she realized anew. It was called The Fairmont.  
  
For a full minute (that could’ve been many more) she sat there in the main hall and looked around at the wealth of everything. Even while a grown woman, it took a special effort to remember to shut her mouth from gaping.  
  
The plants! The lighting! The guests!  
  
The walls were papered in a soft green shade and the tile throughout was a pleasing, contrasting dark maroon and light. While a fairly decent sized place, it wasn’t simply a big open room either. It appeared, in her quick assessment, to be sectioned into at least four quarters by columns of some lovely colored wood (cherry?) and decorative railings. At each column stood a potted fern. Upon every table was a vase of flowers. Roses. Lilies. Hydrangeas. Daisies. So many different kinds!!  
  
She leaned in close to her husband’s side. “Am I dreaming?” He assured her she was not.  
  
They were shown a table in what Christine mentally called the “Third Quarter” with a bouquet of lily-of-the-valley in the fogged centerpiece vase. The Ford was so amazed by everything she could scarcely make her eyes focus on the menu she had been handed by a friendly waitress.  
  
“Harlan… I just can’t believe it’s real!” she remarked, looking all around. “I’m probably acting like a child, but I’ve never, ever been in a place like this.”  
  
He smiled. “Now you can say you have, and you can tell Veronica also.” She laughed.  
  
“True.” Her features suddenly fell. “But… I’m sure it’s expensive. Is it right? Can we… afford it? I don’t want to… cause a problem.”  
  
He would never love a pair of eyes more than hers, a storm of winter and summer, fall and spring, locked forever in one place. The way the light fell across them. The way they really were a window to her soul. He gave his hood a heartening shake.  
  
“Christine, darling, that’s not even a matter for you to worry about.”  
  
“But…”  
  
“Your birthday is in four days and I want to treat you early,” he explained. “I want my girl to have the best. And the best is also your choice, darling. You choose whatever you want. I don’t want to seem like the liquor-pusher he was.”  
  
Neither had to mention Frank’s name to know he was referred to.  
  
Christine looked up again from her menu. “I don’t know if I can accurately express my gratitude, Harlan.” She covered a giggled with the scallop-edged paper. “I can barely think. Humble _me_ in a place like this, _married_ to an honest gentleman like you? It’s amazing! It… surpasses fiction.”  
  
His loving blue gaze held hers from across his arresting hood ornament and the bouquet of dainty white flowers. “Isn’t that what they always say about the truth, Christine? It’s better than fiction any day.” His smile brightened. “And honey? I trust your expression of gratitude just fine. In fact, it suits me perfectly.” He politely winked to seal the deal.  
  
“ _Naughty_ ,” she hissed under her breath. “I thought you were a gentleman.”  
  
“Oops.” He dramatically sighed and shook his hood. “I tell you, I just keep driving in it today.” The waitress returned then, an appealing Buick with a cheerful smile.  
  
“You both decided on what you’d like?” she inquired, brandishing her pen and pad of paper. Harlan cast a cursory glance at his bill of fare and then set it aside and turned to his wife.  
  
“You go first, darling.” he complied.  
  
“Oh!” she gasped, quickly consulting her own menu. “Mmm, let me see…. I think I’d like to just go with a ginger-ale. Please?”  
  
The girl wrote it down. “That’s a good choice, a lot of folks like it! It’s a nice little tonic, you could say.” She turned to Harlan. “And you, sir?”  
  
“I’ll have what she’s having, thank you.”  
  
The waitress left, Christine watching her departure for a few until turning back to her husband. “Out of all the things on that menu, all you wanted was a bland little ginger-ale, Harlan? I… guess I expected you to get something… stronger.”  
  
He shrugged with apparent good nature. “I’m trying to regain the title of ‘gentleman’ again without swilling alcohol before my lovely wife. If I have something stronger I may inadvertently spill some sort of blasphemy and completely ruin my chances with you tonight and find myself sleeping in the living room after all.”  
  
She tried her best not to grin but it crept across her bumper either way. “You’re the most wonderful man in the world, dearest. Anyone who can make me smile or laugh as much as you do could never do something that bad. Don’t forget you’re also _my_ everything.”  
  
“A man can’t ever be too careful though, Christine.” he pointed out. She nodded.  
  
“I guess that’s true.”  
  
Promptly their orders were delivered to them, the smiling Buick promising she’d be back later to see if all was alright and they could hail her anytime. Christine held her drink close. Her eyes slipped briefly shut. “That smell takes me right back to being a little girl again.” She now looked to her husband. “Mom tried to do what she could at little celebratory times of the year, and sometimes at Christmas, we’d have one of these. Funny how I didn’t really remember until I smelled this. I’d feel like such a big girl with my little fancy glass. She had two etched cups she’d inherited from her great-grandparents and I knew it was a special time when I saw them.” She looked again at her beverage. “I wonder how many children anticipated ginger-ale as I did.”  
  
Harlan smiled. “That’s a sweet memory, Christine. I enjoy learning about you.”  
  
She looked at him with overshadowed eyes. The smile she wore was as delicate and dear as the vase of flowers between them. “I’m glad someone doesn’t mind listening,” she murmured.  
  
“May I propose a toast, darling?” he inquired. Surprised but willing, she said yes. He leveled his gaze to hers, over a long glinting hood, past ornamentations of chrome. Eyes she likened to winter’s ice but their mien wore none of such hinted chill. Eyes she would always feel loved and safe in.  
  
“To the girl who makes me proud to be her husband, happy early birthday. For the many more to come, happy almost two month anniversary to the most beautiful woman in the world.” He smiled. “Thank you for letting me share my life with you, Christine.”  
  
 _Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry_! This is what she told herself again and again. But the tears of joy were impossible to suppress. They lined the bottom of her eyes. “And thank you for letting me share my life with _you_ , Harlan.”  
  
Her smile told what other words could fail to.  
  
Over the lilies-of-the-valley, two glasses of ginger-ale clinked by two cars who couldn’t look more opposite from each other. The love and devotion they held for their equal though was of such dimension it could’ve filled the whole room.


End file.
